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LEDDY MARGET 


































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By the Same Author 

MR. SMITH : a Part of his Life 

THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER 
COUSINS. 

TROUBLESOME DAUGHTERS. 

PAULINE. 

DICK NETHERBY. 

THE HISTORY OF A WEEK. 

A STIFF-NECKED GENERATION. 

NAN, and other Stories. 

THE MISCHIEF OF MONICA. 

THE ONE GOOD GUEST. 

“PLOUGHED,” and other Stories. 

THE MATCHMAKER. 

IYA KILDARE : a Matrimonial Problem 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY 







LEDDY MARGET 


BY 



L. B. WALFORD 

'\ 

AUTHOR OF “MR. SMITH,” “THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER," ETC. 


NEW YORK 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
LONDON AND BOMBAY 
1898 














1 0 O 3 3 






. > 







* 





» • s 


CONTENTS. 




CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Girl of Eighty i 

II. “A’ for a Puir Daft Man!” 15 

III. A Pilgrim 29 

IV. “Whae’s after Leddy Marget’s Aipples ? ” . 46 

V. The Brocade, the Lace, and the Diamonds . 62 

VI. “These are our Church-going Gees” ... 80 

. 

VII. “ An’ nae Hairm to Come o’t ! ” . . . . 96 

VIII. A “Shock-headed Peter” 112 

IX. An Angel of Mercy 128 

X. “Ye Greedy Glegs” 144 

XI. “He was aye Jist — Robert” 159 

XII. The London Visit and its Result . . .184 

XIII. “A mere Nothing — but no Visitors” . . . 200 


XIV. “ The King has Called Me to His Side To-night ” 218 



















































































. V. 
























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LEDDY MARGET. 

CHAPTER I. 

A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 

It is of no consequence to any one in what 
precise spot of her native land Lady Margaret 
lived. 

She had found a sunny, sheltered nook on the 
western coast which exactly suited her, and 
there was she to be found, summer and winter 
alike, by all who chose to seek her out. 

It was, to be sure, a few miles from anywhere 
— that is to say, from church, station, and mar- 
ket-place — but her ladyship had a stout little 
pony and basket-cart on two wheels, and this 
dot upon the road was to be met with at all 
hours, plying between the neighbouring town 
and the small domain among the sandhills. 

Lady Margaret had three maids, and they 
were all able to drive Tom — for such knowledge 
was essential. If they had never driven before, 
they learnt. 

And every one of them liked it better than 
did their mistress, who voted the entertainment 

i 


2 


LEDDY MARGET. 


dull, except when now and then the fit took her 
to shop vehemently for an hour or two, and trot 
back to her nest laden with parcels and packages 
— mostly presents — after which unwonted out- 
break she would resume with fresh zest the 
pursuits and occupations which, to the secret 
joy of the younger domestics, and the regret of 
the one disinterested elder, were more congenial 
to her nature. She was generally to be found 
on the shore, or in her garden. 

“ Is that her?” said Colonel Kelso to his 
daughter, pointing with his whip to a dark 
object which could just be perceived on the 
edge of the low tide. 

A smart pair of cobs had brought father and 
daughter to the top of a rising ground, whence 
could be obtained a view of Lady Margaret’s 
snug cottage, with its miniature outbuildings. 
“See? Away out there? Is that her, think 
you ? ” 

The sun was strong, and blazed down upon 
the shining sea-pools. Joanna blinked, and 
shook her head. “ It is so far off, papa ” 

“Nonsense, if I can see, you can see. There! 
It moves ! Runs along ! It’s her for a wager ! 
Shrimping, or periwinkle hunting, or some- 
thing. Rare sport these low September tides 
must be for Lady Meg. Queer woman. Like 
nobody else in the world.” 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


3 


“ Shall we go down and see what she is 
about ? ” 

“Not as you value her friendship — at least 
Gibbie’s friendship. Gibbie would never for- 
give you. No, no; we drive up properly to 
the door, send round the horses, say we’ll wait 
in the drawing-room, and give Gibbie time to 
get in her mistress and rig her up for company. 
I know. I haven’t been Lady Meg’s neighbour 
all these years for nothing. You are but an 
ignorant schoolgirl.” 

“Not a schoolgirl now, papa.” 

“ There’s a deal to learn yet, Jenny.” 

The colonel paused, flicked his whip, and 
popped it into its niche as he gave both hands 
to guiding the cobs down the sharp incline which 
terminated at the cottage door. This reached, 
he relaxed the reins and resumed with a lowered 
tone and a jerk of his head in the direction of 
the porch : “ There’s some one in there — that’s 
to say if she is in there — who could teach you 
more than all your books. There’s a woman 
who knows how to live — and who’ll know 
how to die too, when her time comes, — a 
woman ” 

“ But you yourself call her ‘queer’.” 

“So she is queer. It is queer to find any 
one ” 

“ ’Sh, papa.” For the door was being opened. 


4 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Lady Margaret at home?” the colonel fin- 
ished his sentence briskly. Then he had an 
opportunity of carrying out his programme, for, 
as anticipated, Lady Margaret was not at home, 
though Lady Margaret was within hail, and he 
was earnestly bidden to step within, and wait 
till her ladyship could be summoned. 

“ She’s no that faur,” said a voice in the rear, 
recognisable as that of Mrs. Gibson, the per- 
sonal attendant, guide, counsellor, and friend — 
or, as some alleged, the ruler absolute of Lady 
Margaret St. Albans. “ She’s jist gane oot for 
a bit blaw — a stroll upo’ the sands, Cornell. 
Her leddyship tak’s the air aboot this time maist 
days. ’Deed, but she wad be vexed to miss ye. 
I’ll sen’ doun if ye’ll kindly step ben,” and the 
portly figure in its black silk dress swayed to- 
wards a side door. Gibbie was always ready 
for callers ; three o’clock saw the well-worn but 
still eminently respectable black silk donned as 
regularly as clockwork, and “The girls wadna 
ken what to say ” was her excuse for presenting 
herself as soon as the door-bell had been an- 
swered. 

Neither would Gibbie’s mistress herself have 
known what to say (according to Gibbie’s ideas) 
had she been caught upon her doorstep ; where- 
fore it was always satisfactory to cut in before 
her if possible. “ My leddy is doun-bye, gi’ein’ 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


5 


directions to gairdner aboot her beddin’-oot 
plants/’ sounded decent at the outset — even if 
it had to be followed by Lady Margaret’s “ I 
was helping Donald to pop in the geraniums,” 
presently. 

By no one was this better understood than 
by Mrs. Gibson’s present interlocutor, who now 
scrambled down from the box seat, his eyes 
twinkling. “Her Ieddyship’s takin’ the air 
upo’ the sands ” meant that he had been right 
in his surmise as to the running object on the 
water’s edge. Undoubtedly Lady Margaret 
was taking the air — and exercise too. 

“All right; we’ll wait,” said he, promptly. 
‘‘No hurry, you know. The horses will be the 
better of a good rest ; so don’t let your mistress 
be hurried in.” 

“ Thank ye, sir. Her leddyship will tak’ — 
ahem — a meenute or twa to get up to the 
hoose ; it’s fresher doun by the water-side.” 

“ Keeps well, does she, Mrs. Gibson ?” 

“Very weel indeed, sir. ’Deed, Miss Jenny, 
I’d hardly thocht it could be you, it’s sae lang 
syne — and ye’ll be back to bide noo, I’m think- 
in’?” 

Having despatched her messenger with in- 
structions to bring Lady Margaret round by 
the back door, and on no account to let her be 
seen approaching from the windows, Gibbie 


6 


LEDDY MARGET. 


was now free for conversation ; and the colonel 
being a favourite, and his only daughter just 
returned from a foreign school to take lip her 
abode at home, the three were presently in full 
chat. “ She canna wun in for a while yet,” 
reflected Gibbie, enjoying herself. 

By-and-by she would retreat with a re- 
spectful “ Ye’ll excuse me; I’ll jist see if my 
leddy is cornin’,” when about time for my lady 
to be nipped in the bud, ere she could enter 
wet and wild, as she was sure to be from the 
sea-wind and sea-water. 

She would then be hustled upstairs and made 
as presentable as could be done in the time, 
and her line of opening address hinted at. 
“ Ye’ll say ye was takin’ yer afternoon prome- 
nade, and had to be fetched in. So ye was. 
But oh, my leddy, dinna let on ye had a pail fu’ 
o’ beasts ” 

Some people would have told this again. 
Some, with Lady Margaret’s keen sense of 
humour, would have made merry over Gibbie’s 
pathetic anxiety and instructions. Gibbie’s 
mistress never did. 

Let us now leave for a moment the drawing- 
room with its occupants, and fly across the shore 
with the light-footed lass whose mission it was 
to summon the loiterer. 

Nowhere could Katie perceive the object of 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


7 


her despatch, as she shot from the cottage path 
like an arrow from its bolt, straight ahead. 
This, however, did not trouble her ; she had 
only to run on. But now she was all among 
the pools ! — deep, troublesome pools some of 
them were! — and on every side were slippery 
rocks, covered with sea-weed, which, almost 
undistinguishable from the streaks of sand when 
viewed from a distance, assumed cruel propor- 
tions when actually barring further progress — 
where could Lady Margaret be ? 

There was nothing for it but to cry aloud ; 
and, accordingly, a shrill note was uplifted, 
which took instant effect. 

“Here; I’m here.” To the girl’s amaze- 
ment, there rose from a weedy crevice only a 
few yards off the figure of which she was in 
search, and her mistress’ voice somewhat hur- 
riedly and vexedly replied as above. “ Don’t 
make such a noise, Katie. I’m here,” repeated 
Lady Margaret, with an odd mingling of re- 
proach and apology in her tone. 

“Oh, my lady, you’re to come in, Mrs. 
Gibson says.” 

Stumbling across the intervening space, 
Katie was proceeding in hot haste — “There’s 

Colonel Kelso, and Miss Kelso ” but Lady 

Margaret cut her short. “ I saw them ; I am 
coming. I was only just finishing here.” She 


8 


LEDDY MARGET. 


surveyed ruefully a net and pail by her side. 
She had been lying on her face scouring the 
limpid depths of the pool, and, truth to tell, had 
hoped to remain hidden, for though not gener- 
ally averse to neighbourly intercourse, it was 
to-day an unwelcome interruption. “A tide 
like this ! ” she murmured regretfully — but she 
sighed and took up her pail. 

“ Let me help you, my lady.” For it was 
an old, old woman who shouldered her net and 
walked straight through the water to Katie’s 
side. 

“ Nothing of the sort ; run in before me,” 
said Lady Margaret, brandishing her net like a 
weapon to ward off interference. “ Run in and 
say I am coming ; ” and she stumped along 
resignedly. 

“ Mrs. Gibson said you were to come round 
by the back door, my lady.” 

“ Mrs. Gibson meant that you were to leave 
it open for me,” said my lady, with dignity. 
She knew how angry Gibbie would have been 
had she heard her orders literally repeated ; it 
was only silly little Katie in her excitement 
who forgot to put them into proper shape. 
When Gibbie said “ Mind she does it,” Katie 
was meant to murmur reverentially, “ Mrs. 
Gibson thought you would like to do it ” ; 
and Katie had to be checked, even while the 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


9 


speaker in rough coat, short petticoat, and 
battered hat, stumped through weed and 
water, and carried her own implements. 

Katie, however, nothing daunted, pursued 
her own line, and her line was to affect that 
she could go no faster than she did, the while 
she kept a watchful, grand-daughterly eye on 
Lady Margaret. In consequence, 

“ You’re not as good as I on the shore, 
Katie,” protested the latter, as together the 
two reached terra firma at length, and a great 
show was made by the handmaiden of achiev- 
ing this with difficulty. “Now you can carry 
these round, and I’ll go up the short way ” 

‘‘The back way, my lady, is shorter, Mrs. 
Gibson thought ” 

“ Hoots ! ” But my lady, after a moment’s 
hesitation, obeyed. 

She expected to find Gibbie in her bedroom, 
and durst not rebel ; she modified her tread as 
she passed the door within which Colonel Kelso 
and his daughter sat, and, in the common 
phrase, “cut like a lamplighter” up the little 
staircase directly it was past. 

Gibbie, however, was still holding the visitors 
in parley, Lady Margaret having been found 
sooner than was expected, and in consequence 
the toilet which would certainly have been 
prescribed was now held to be superfluous. 


10 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ She won’t see me till they’re gone,” chuck- 
led the little old lady, and merely clapped a 
better hat over her sea-blown hair, instead of 
combing and smoothing it afresh. 

Once upon a time, when the white hair was 
bushy and golden, its ruffled waves and flying 
ends had well become the fair face round 
which they clustered, and Lady Margaret could 
never remember that such days were sixty 
years ago. 

She did not pause to look in the glass — there 
was no time. On the bed lay a suitable after- 
noon dress with proper accessories — (for it must 
not be supposed that my heroine, whom we 
have thus caught at unawares, was always as 
here presented to our readers. It was her rule — 
as much as anything could be called her rule — 
to re-habille herself with a due regard to health 
and cleanliness directly she came in from prowls 
by land or sea) — but she glanced at the bed 
now with a negative eye. 

One thing, and one only, she would do — she 
would slip the skirt of the dress over her wet 
petticoat, and wind a woollen shawl around her, 
instead of the mannish coat which Gibbie de- 
tested ; and she had just accomplished this, 
when Gibbie’s tap was heard at the door. 

“ Come in. Shall I do ? ” cried Lady Mar- 
garet hastily. 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


1 1 

Now Gibbie had a great soul ; she saw the 
case was hopeless at a glance. 

“ Oo, ye’ll do ; ” she repressed a groan ; then 
stepped forward and settled the hat which 
had tilted on one side. “ Let me catch up your 
hair,” continued she, seizing a hairpin. “ They 
ken ye’re frae the shore, and fowks canna be 
i’ their bests upo’ the shore. Ye’ll say ye was 
enjoying the fine warm day, takin’ the air 
whaur it was fresh, and that ye wadna bide 

to change for fear o’ keepin’ them langer 

Oo, she’s aff ! ” as with a gay nod the apparition 
vanished. “ ’Deed the Cornell kens her for 
what she is, sae what for suld I mind him ? ” 
the good soul comforted herself; “an’ ’deed if 
it’s her leddyship’s pleesure to gird hersel’ wi’ 
auld claes what is’t to him or ony o’ them ? ” 

A pause. Then “ Leddy Marget St. Albans 
can do as — her — leddyship — chooses, ’’concluded 
Gibbie gloriously ; and tossed her beamed 
frontlet (in the shape of a huge horned cap) 
to the sky ; after which she proceeded to creep 
downstairs, and listen for a passing moment at 
the drawing-room door, to make sure all was 
well therein. 

It was, and she crept away content. 

“ Dear Lady Margaret, I want you to admit 
this young daughter of mine to your friend- 
ship.” 


12 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Colonel Kelso, with the air he only assumed 
on very great occasions, drew Joanna forward 
and placed her hand in the thin, wrinkled hand 
held out towards it. Joanna, shy and bold at 
once, as eighteen is apt to be, looked at the 
hand. Although it had been scooping in sea- 
water, a hoop of brilliants encircled one of the 
fingers : brilliants which flashed in the sun as 
Lady Margaret moved. No one had ever seen 
the finger without the hoop ; it guarded and 
almost hid from view the wedding ring. 

“ Dear me ! what beautiful diamonds ! ” said 
Joanna to herself. “ But of what use are fine 
rings to that poor old hand ? ” 

She did not feel unkindly, but by-and-by, 
in the light of after events, she wondered how 
she had dared to think such a thought. There 
was not another ring in Lady Margaret’s jewel 
box, and she had once possessed many. 

“ Indeed, I have been looking forward to 
Jenny’s coming home,” said Lady Margaret 
in a voice so sweet and soft that Jenny smiled 
responsively. “ May I call you by your name, 
my dear ? Your grandfather and I were great 
friends.” 

(“ And he would have liked to be more than 
friends,” commented Jenny’s father, mentally, 
“ and rejected though he was, he swore by 
Lady Meg to the day of his death.”) “ She 


A GIRL OF EIGHTY. 


13 


will be only too proud,” quoth he, aloud, lead- 
ing the way for Jenny to follow. “ I hoped 
you would adopt her into the old friendship — 
the third generation, you know, — and though 
none of your grandchildren are with you at 
present ” 

“ There are none of her standing, Charles. 
My daughters' girls are married women them- 
selves — and my son Robert married so recently 
that his eldest is only nine. I wish I had some 
nice young grown-up grand-daughters.” 

“You will soon have grown-up great-grand- 
daughters.” 

“ They will have to hurry then — or I shall 
be gone.” 

“ Oh, not yet awhile, I hope, Lady Margaret. 

You are not— not ” Colonel Kelso, albeit 

a courtly gentleman, and fluent of tongue, 
stammered a little, at a loss for the proper 
phrase. 

“ I am eighty. It can’t be very long now — 
not really long , you know.” Then Lady Mar- 
garet turned to her younger visitor. ‘ r I often 
think what a wonderful thing it is — here am I, 
so well and strong, and hearty — never an ache 
or a pain to speak of — (Gibbie coddles me up 
sometimes) — I sleep like a top all night long, 
and wake so hungry for my breakfast ; and 
down to the shore these glorious low tides 


14 


LEDDY MARGET. 


the minute breakfast is over ; I walk and I 
drive — (I have a pony-cart, my dear, but Tom 
is a terrible sluggard ; if it weren’t for the 
maids, who would be afraid of a livelier animal, 
I’d have an American trotter) — and I see my 
friends, rich and poor ; they all come round me, 
and are good to me ; no troubles, no cares, no 
worries have I, while waiting for the gate to 
open ” 

“The — gate, Lady Margaret?” Joanna 
looked from one to the other. There was 
subdued seriousness in her father’s countenance, 
and she felt instantly a touch of awe. “ The — 
gate ? ” 

“ The Gate of Life, dear child. I am with- 
in seeing distance of it now.” Lady Margaret 
paused, and a smile of solemn radiance lit up 
her aged features. “It is a beautiful sight,” 
she said. 


l S 


CHAPTER II. 

“ A’ FOR A PUIR DAFT MAN ! ” 

“What for did ye gang oot on a day like this?” 

Gibbie, irate, was awaiting her mistress at the 
front door ; Lady Margaret had been out in the 
rain ; and now came in with a dripping umbrella, 
which could not be hidden, as it might have 
been had she reached her bedchamber before 
the meeting. The umbrella told its own tale ; 
betraying that its owner had not been merely 
caught in a shower, but had faced the elements 
of malice prepense. 

“Well, I wanted to go,” said Lady Margaret, 
restively. 

“ I ken ye wanted to go ; ye aye want to do 
what ye suldna. What ca’ had ye to creep 
oot wi’oot a word to onybody, an’ mysel’ fast at 
the ironin’ o’ yer lace ” 

“Yes, you were ironing; there was no need 
to disturb you.” 

“It was no that. Wha am I, that I’m no to 
be ‘ disturbed,’ ironin’ or no ironin’ ? Am I no 
yer ain maid ? An’ could ye no ring the bell ? 
But ye kenned fine I wadna ha’e let ye gang ” 


I 6 LEDDY MARGET. 

“ So I did ; and I meant to go.” 

There was a pause ; Gibbie whipping off outer 
garments in angry silence. But presently she 
burst forth again. 

“ I ken whaur ye ha’e been. To daft Jock’s 
at the Braeside. Twa gude miles frae here ! 

An’ ye come in drookit through ! It’s jist 

Me or ane o’ the lasses could ha’e gane,” scowl- 
ing upon the thick-soled boot which, with ten- 
derest touch, she was now drawing off. (On 
such occasions Gibbie’s speech and actions were 
ever at variance.) “ I kenned it,” she now cried 
with savage exultation ; “ see to it : the stocking 

itsel’! ” holding up the same, damp and mud- 

stained, and dangling it in front of the delin- 
quent, before proceeding to replace it by one 
well warmed at the fire lit during her infuriated 
waiting. “ Siccan a thing to do!” continued 
she, muttering fast. 

Lady Margaret gave a little cough ; it was 
time to make it up. “You see, Gibbie, Donald 

said Jock wanted to see me ” but she got 

no further. 

“ You ? Wanted to see you ? Set him up ! 
‘Wanted to see me,’ quo’ she! Dinna we a’ 
ken Jock aye wants the best o’ everything? 
Me or ane o’ the lasses could ha’e gane,” re- 
lapsing into sullenness. 

“ Poor Jock is far through, Gibbie.” 


1 7 


“ A’ FOR A PUIR DAFT MAN ! ” 

“ Humph ! No that faur, I’se warrant him/’ 

“ Oh, yes, he is indeed ; the doctor thinks 
very badly of him, and he looks so weak and 
thin ” 

“We could ha’e ta’en him a drap soup ; or 
maybe wine ” 

“ That’s right, Gibbie ” — but Lady Margaret’s 
joyful tone undid her, Gibbie relapsed on the 
instant. “ I thought you would go,” proceeded 
her mistress, unperceiving. 

“Me go? Me? In sic weather? Na ! If 
yer leddyship chooses to come in like a drooned 
rat ” 

“ But you said you or one of the maids would 
go.” 

“We wad hcie gaen — to save you. It’s dif- 
ferent noo,” drily. 

Lady Margaret was silent. 

“ Ye’ll catch yer deith.” Gibbie made a sullen 
endeavour to resume the argument. 

“ What if I do ? ” said Lady Margaret, com- 
posedly. 

Gibbie winced ; she knew what that com- 
posure meant. There were times when her 
power failed, regions into which it could not 
penetrate — nay, when she herself was fain to 
hang her head, and feel rebuked. “ What if I 
do ? ” repeated Lady Margaret with keen, bright 
eyes. “ Eh ? ” 


2 


i8 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ A’ for a puir daft man ! ” 

“ A poor daft man has as much right to have 
an emissary of Jesus Christ by his deathbed as 
the highest in the land,” said Lady Margaret in 
ringing tones. “ Fie on you — a follower of 
Him who cast out devils — to scorn poor Jock 
Gilroy for being thus afflicted! He may be 
set before you and me in heaven for aught we 
know. We, who have sinned so often and so 
deeply against light and knowledge, may well 
be put to shame by yon poor fool. From his 
earliest years he has clung to that which is 
good, to that which is pure, to that which 
is true. He has groped through clouds and 
darkness, through ignorance and blindness, 
knowing little — less than many a babe — yet 
ever faithful to that he did know. Methinks I 
see the Saviours smile of welcome for such a 
‘ little one ’ ! ” She paused, but there was no 
reply. 

“ And now that the day is near the breaking,” 
continued Lady Margaret with a kindling coun- 
tenance, “ would you forbid me to stand by 
while the clouds roll off and the day-star arises ? 
The veil will lift soon — lift for us all ; but to 
those just without there comes — there may 
come,” she corrected herself, “ a shrinking 
moment, when the very Cross itself is in sha- 
dow, and darkness falls upon the figure of the 


“ A’ FOR A PUIR DAFT MAN ! ” 19 

Son of God. This poor soul trembles in that 
shadow ; and then think of it ! the honour of 
it ! he sent for me — unworthy me — to be my 
Master’s mouthpiece ! To comfort him with 
the promise of his Lord ! . . . Would you have 
held me back from such an errand ? Grudged 
me such a mission ? Me, who may have but 
few more such blessed moments ere my own 
call comes ? . . . 

“ And it was blessed ! ” — her musing eye lit 
up anew. “ Oh, to see the light come back ; 
and peace, joy and love once more cast out 
fear ! Soon, soon none will despise this poor 
weak one more ; he will have exchanged his 
little hut upon the moor for a dwelling in that 
house where there are many mansions ; for, 
Gibbie, Gibbie dear,” Lady Margaret put out a 
hand that sued for peace, “ in my Fathers house 
are many mansions — many, many mansions.” 
Her head fell upon her bosom, the last words 
died away in a whisper. 

“ Wad your leddyship please to move, while 
I wheel roond the chair?” said Gibbie very 
respectfully. 

Nobody could demean herself with more 
profound respect than Lady Margaret’s faithful 
attendant when she pleased, and though it may 
not have hitherto so appeared, she reverenced 


20 


LEDDY MARGET. 


her aged mistress from the bottom of her soul. 
To her there was but one person in the world, 
as there was but one family — Lady Margaret’s 
family. 

Gibbie had been in it from generations, as it 
were. Her grandfather had been one Lord 
Derringer’s butler, her father another’s steward ; 
and though to the ordinary mind Derringer 
Castle was only the home of a poor Scotch 
lord, it was the place of places in the eyes of 
those loyal retainers. 

True, it was lonely and dull; for the only 
daughter of the house had been early wedded 
and borne across the border, and the only son 
was seldom seen within the paternal halls ; but 
none the less was the outcry great and terrible 
when the latter died, and the ancient title be- 
came extinct, while the estates passed to a dis- 
tant heir. 

Gibbie was then a lass of twenty, and Lady 
Margaret sent for her to Alban Towers. 

Lady Margaret was in the plenitude of her 
prosperity and happiness, and it was a stirring 
household into which the raw Scottish lassie 
was imported, to be her ladyship’s own girl, 
shaped and trained at the hands of her lady- 
ship’s own maid. 

Gibbie, or Marion as she was termed at this 
period, served her apprenticeship with the usual 


“a’ for a puir daft man! 


21 


ups and downs ; but at its close she had struck 
her roots into the soil ; she had been ten years 
in the family when the catastrophe overtook it 
of which more anon, subsequent to which she 
ascended in the scale and took rank as “ Mrs. 
Gibson 

Even then, however, she was not Lady Mar- 
garet’s “Gibbie”. 

For a long, long time did the two live side 
by side ere the day, almost equally sad to both, 
arrived, when the stately English home was 
left behind, and mistress and maid, the former 
seventy, the latter fifty years of age, entered 
together upon a new phase of existence at the 
little cottage among the sandhills. 

Thus much explained, Gibbie may perhaps 
be pardoned for having even at that epoch 
begun to wield the sceptre which, as we know, 
she now held with so firm a hand. 

To return. It was an hour or two after the 
interview above narrated, and Lady Margaret, 
comfortably ensconced beside a bright fire and 
shaded lamp, beheld a stout figure, clad in out- 
door habiliments, enter the room. She under- 
stood in a moment. 

“Oh, you good Gibbie!” cried she. “And 
in the dark too ! I hope you took Mysie or 
Katie with you ? You took Mysie ? That 
was right. Well ? Well, and how was he ? ” 


22 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“He was — ye were no that faur wrang, my 
leddy. He was — ahem ! ” 

“ Dead, Gibbie ? ” Lady Margaret leaned 
forward quickly. 

Gibbie nodded. “ Jist deid. Deid 'ore ye’d 
gaen a hunner yairds frae the door ! Ye’d 
scarce set fit ootside, when ‘ Losh ! ’ says he, 

‘ ca’ Leddy Marget back ! ’ — but they didna 
like ” 

“ Not like ! Oh, Gibbie ! Not like ! ” 

“ They askit him what he wanted, and ’twas 
jist to haud the han’ o’ ye, for he was ‘ gaun,’ he 
said, an’ ye’d promised to haud his han’ as he 
went ; sae they tell’t him ye was ower faur 
ayont the brae, to pacify him ; then, says he, 

‘ Tell her frae me that when her ain time comes 
she can cry on Jock, and he’ll come to her — 
though maybe she’ll no see it’s him till she’s 
ower the border. But he’ll come, ye tell her.’ 
The puir cratur — he kenned nae better. ‘ But,’ 
says his mither, ‘Jock, what sort o’ a message 
is thon to sen’ to a leddy like Leddy Marget, 
whae’s like to ha’e her ain kith an’ kin in plenty, 
forbye them that’s sairved her near half a life- 
time ? ’ ‘ She corned to me,’ says he. He 

couldna understan’ the differ, ye ken.” 

“Nor can I,” said Lady Margaret, softly. 

“Then he jist cries oot, ‘Lord Jesus, I’m 
cornin’! Daft Jock’s upo’ the road ; I was sair 


“A’ FOR A PUIR DAFT MAN!” 23 

frichtit, but Leddy Marget says ’ an’ wi’ 

that he’s awa’ ! Yer leddyship’s name the last 
upo’ his lips ! Wow ! but he lookit rael bonnie, 
wi’ a maist extraordinar sensible look ! She has 
him a’ daikert oot. I’d ta’en a sheet wi’ me ; 
for Donald said fowks thocht he wad flit the 
nicht, and she was rael pleased, puir body. 
She was thinkin’ maybe yer leddyship wad look 
in i’ the bye-gaun ? ” 

“ I’ll go to-morrow, of course, Gibbie.” Gib- 
bie withdrew. 

“ There now ! it was good of Gibbie to go ! ” 
said Lady Margaret to herself, lying back in 
her arm-chair, contentedly. (Lady Margaret 
never thought it was “good” of herself to do 
anything.) “ What a blessing it is to have such 
a faithful creature to scold and love me, and 
help me with the people about. I am always 
forgetting ; my memory is so silly, never had a 
good memory except for things that are of no 
use to anybody ” — and there came a sudden 
little catch in the speaker’s breath, for the things 
that were of no use to anybody stood out in 
bold print, stamped with indelible ink upon 
Memory’s page. 

There were days when Lady Margaret could 
see herself a childish figure in child’s clothes, 
frisking among sunny flower-borders, swinging, 
shouting, tossing the ball from hand to hand, 


24 


LEDDY MARGET. 


the inventor of games innumerable and frolics 
indescribable. 

There were days when it was a demure 
maiden, with sparkling eyes and blushing cheeks, 
who danced across the stage. 

Anon the maiden has a lover — blissful, heav- 
enly period 1 He comes thundering at the gate, 
fiery with impatience, scornful of opposition. 
He woos and wins — who could resist Victor ? 

And ere the wedding-day arrives, he places 
on her finger that liquid belt whose radiance 
many beside Colonel Kelso’s young daughter 
have admired. He says it is to remain there 
till death — and there it remains. She never 
goes to bed at night without kissing it. 

Glowing pictures too are those which follow 
of the young wedded life, crowned with every 
blessing. The gallant bridegroom is gently 
transformed into the fond and tender husband, 
the bride into a loved companion and glad- 
hearted, proud young mother. There are scenes 
of pain and sorrow, it is true ; nights of weeping 
no less clearly visible than morns of joy — nay, 
still more precious ; but weal or woe, grief or 
gladness seem, in the retrospect, to have been 
alike blest, are alike dear and sacred now. 

There is only one scene upon which Lady 
Margaret fears to gaze too often. Gibbie does 
not like to see her eyes red ; and though they 


“a’ for a puir daft man!” 25 

are very good eyes, and it is only when she 
takes up a book or writes a note that glasses 
are resorted to, still they are tell-tales. Gibbie 
always knows when her old mistress, who has 
fits of musing now and then — (on a summer even- 
ing when the sun is setting red over the sea, or 
in some still, silent, wistful autumn hour between 
the lights) — Gibbie knows by instinct if Lady 
Margaret has been thinking of her husband’s 
last “ Good-bye 

Gibbie herself remembers it with a full 
heart. 

She had chanced to be summoned to the 
door-step, and was standing near her lady, then, 
for all her lusty sons and daughters, as blithe 
and comely a madam as any in the land, when 
Sir Victor, broad and grey, but a noble gentle- 
man withal, ran up the steps a second time to 
take a second kiss, seeing that he came not 
back that night, being about to ride to the far 
end of the county on business, and the days too 
short and dark for the return journey. 

Gibbie had been half-contemptuous of so 
much middle-aged affection. “ Like as if they 
were joes ! ” she had cried to herself ; but she 
hears now, and knows that Lady Margaret 
hears, the clattering hoofs ring gaily out, and 
then die away in the distance, never to be heard 
from that horse and rider again. 


26 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Ah, well ! it happened thirty years ago, what 
followed. 

They brought him home ; they buried the 
poor steed where he lay (at the foot of a hidden 
precipice to which he had bolted in the mist) ; 
and Lady Margaret — no one ever knew how 
Lady Margaret bore it. 

Looking back after a while, people seemed to 
remember that she was seen little of for a long 
time, and that when she did begin to figure 
again upon the stage of life, she was altered. 

In youth she was “a merry grig,” her old 
nurse said. She was always a cheerful, light- 
hearted woman, with abundant interests and 
occupations. Religious too. Sir Victor and 
Lady Margaret St. Albans had trod the paths 
of righteousness hand in hand ; theirs was a 
God-fearing household, and their children were 
brought up in the nurture and admonition of 
the Lord ; so that, the period of mourning ex- 
pired, those who understood human nature were 
not surprised to hear the widow laugh again. 

And they expected to see Lady Margaret go 
on living in the old house, and gradually resume 
the even tenor of her life — which she did for a 
time ; but those who lived in daily contact with 
her knew what they knew. 

Thirty years ago ! Lady Margaret can refer 
to it now, to all except the day (of that she 


“A’ for a puir daft man!” 2 7 

never speaks), with perfect serenity. She had 
her dear children, her Victor and Robert and 
Louis, her Maggie and Isabel. All now are 
either married or dead. She made a home for 
them while they needed it ; for twenty years the 
stately mansion where now Sir Robert reigns 
(sole survivor of the brothers) knew her as its 
mistress ; from it went forth weddings and fu- 
nerals ; and within its walls were gathered from 
time to time merry parties ever on the increase. 
There were troops of little ones who called her 
“ Granny 

Life was not what it had been ; but it had 
still its jocund moments — its pleasures, hopes, 
doubts, fears, disappointments, triumphs. The 
cup which had once brimmed over was still full. 

Gradually it sank a little. Time with his 
steady tick went on, picking and stealing as he 
went. Partings grew to be more frequent than 
meetings. Every once in a while the family 
vault would be opened. The little ones were 
no longer little ; their fathers and mothers were 
grey-headed. 

And at last came a wrench, long foreseen, but 
bad to bear none the less. Lady Margaret, at 
seventy years of age, must quit the beauteous 
home to which the girl of twenty had been 
borne as a bride, and make way for the bride 
of another generation. 


28 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Not that of her first-born, first and dearest of 
all. Victor had, unwedded, followed his father 
to the tomb, knowing no woman’s love but that 
of his mother to the last ; it was the wanderer, 
Robert, who had returned from a far country, 
bringing with him a new mistress for Alban 
Towers. 

It was quite right, Lady Margaret said. She 
rejoiced that the family seat should be once 
more the residence of the head of the family. 
It was high time for Sir Robert to settle down ; 
she had really almost despaired of his doing so, 
but “better late than never”. She drove all 
over the county announcing the news and re- 
ceiving congratulations. 

But Gibbie found her the same night stand- 
ing in front of a picture in the old gallery ; and 
Gibbie saw that her hands were clasped, and 
that a handkerchief which dropped from be- 
tween them was picked up and hastily hidden 
from view, as Lady Margaret with head averted 
moved away. 

Gibbie had spoken to her, but received no 
answer. 


2 9 


CHAPTER III. 

A PILGRIM. 

A few more words of retrospect. 

We left Lady Margaret on the eve of quitting 
her wedded home, and returning to end her days 
in the land of her birth. 

She made, as we have said, no moan about 
it ; indeed she took much cheerful interest in 
the small domain which had been found for her 
by an old family friend (none other than the 
Colonel Kelso already presented to our readers), 
and presided over the removal of her pots and 
pans, as she called them, with immense zeal and 
activity. Those, however, who predicted that 
many waggons would be required for the furni- 
ture of the retreating dowager, would have been 
strangely surprised had they known what Gibbie 
knew. Gibbie going round and round — and 
even in those days authoritative, though nothing 
to what she afterwards became — could scarce 
repress before others, and made no effort to do 
so in private, the indignation with which her 
bosom burned. All that was best and rarest — 
all the bureaux, work-tables, cabinets, which 


30 


LEDDY MARGET. 


were the accumulation of years at Alban Towers 
— belonged to Lady Margaret. Nothing but 
solid, massive pieces of furniture had been there 
when she came. 

And now she would have none of them — 
none at least to speak of. 

“ Ye’ll no leave this ? ” Now and again an 
effort must be made, let Lady Margaret be as 
“ thrawn ” as she would. “ Gudesakes, my 
leddy, ye'll no leave yer ain braw inlaid writin’ 
table ; an’ the brocade screen ; an’ the ” 

“ Silly woman ; what good would a fine bro- 
cade screen, fit only for a place like this, be to 
me in my little cottage among the sandhills ? ” 

Gibbie, doggedly : “ Ye bit to plenish the 
cottage ”. 

It went to the faithful creature’s heart to see 
the china and the silver and the dainty pieces 
of rare old embroidery put back in the places 
whence she in her zeal had extracted them. 
She did indeed contrive to nick a few odds and 
ends unseen (a musical box, a gold chatelaine 
with appendages, and an ivory cabinet filled 
with mother-o’-pearl counters, together with 
various minor trifles which could be whipt under 
her apron in passing), but she was driven to 
such nefarious acts by Lady Margaret’s improvi- 
dence. Lady Margaret could not see that she 
wanted anything at all — according to Gibbie. 


A PILGRIM. 


31 


At length the latter hit upon a talisman which 
worked. “ I think, my leddy — ye’ll excuse my 
sayin’ it — but Sir Victor wad no ha’e likit you to 
leave yon,” she would say, smoothly; “ Sir Victor 
was aye fond o’ yon.” And “ yon ” was allowed 
to be packed without a word. 

Of the other articles, the contraband cargo 
smuggled by Gibbie via her apron and other 
devious ways, it suffices here to say that before 
she had done with them they grew to be a bur- 
den ; for though she kept them hidden in a gar- 
ret for months, and only suffered them to glide 
into notice one by one (inserting them at inter- 
vals among the downstairs furniture), Lady 
Margaret would be so disturbed by each ap- 
pearance, and so uneasy wondering what Gibbie 
had taken next, that it was a positive relief 
when the worst was out. This proved to be 
the ivory cabinet ; and she could not allege it 
to have been a partiality of Sir Victor’s, for it 
had been sent home from China quite recently 
by the very son who was now returned to oust 
his mother. 

Gibbie had greatly admired the cabinet. 
“ Wad he ha’e likit to fin’ it there ? ” she now 
ventured as a last resource ; but Lady Margaret 
only looked what she very seldom did, annoyed. 
Robert was not like his father and brothers ; he 
would have been very well pleased to find any- 


32 


LEDDY MARGET. 


thing beautiful and valuable left at the Towers. 
He would not have heeded sentiment. 

The disclosure took place too late, however, 
for anything to be done in the matter — for 
which Gibbie secretly thanked her stars — and 
thereafter she had at least the satisfaction of 
keeping the pretty toy pure and polished, and 
setting it out to the best advantage in the little 
drawing-room of the cottage. 

She had also a sympathiser, had she known 
it, in Miss Joanna Kelso. “ The only thing I 
was disappointed in, papa, was the house,” said 
Joanna, on talking over her first visit. 

“ The house ? What was the matter with 
the house ? ” replied he. “ A good enough, 
pretty enough, cosy enough little housie. Small, 
of course — but still, what ailed you at it ? What 
fault had you to find with it ? ” 

“ I did not mind the smallness ; it was not 
that. But I had expected to find a perfect little 
gem — everything most exquisite on a tiny 
scale.” 

“ Who gave you leave to expect anything of 
the kind?” 

“ Why, you — you yourself. You always said 
it was something worth going to see.” 

“ Stop a bit, my lassie. I said it was some- 
thing to see Lady Margaret — not her nutshell.” 
“ Oh ! ” 


A PILGRIM. 


33 


“ But,” resumed Miss Joanna, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, “ although of course Lady Mar- 
garet is delightful, and I did not mind her own 
very peculiar gear — it was peculiar, papa, but it 
did not seem to affect Lady Margaret in the 
least — I do wish her surroundings were a little 
more — that they were not quite so bare and 
plain.” 

“ Bare and plain ? I don’t know a pleasanter 
little drawing-room anywhere than that at the 
cottage. You sit in that little sunny window 
looking out over the sea — while within there 
are books, flowers, a picture or two — what 
more would you have ? ” 

“ Some old ladies have such wonderful things; 
relics and heirlooms ; tons of old china, and 
foreign curiosities. I was hoping for a grand 
rout among Lady Margaret’s treasures.” 

The colonel was silent, looking a little oddly. 
He was a reticent man on certain subjects. 

“ What there was was all in perfect taste, 
certainly,” pursued Joanna, “ but there were so 
very few things about. No knick-knacks; no 
little ladylike trifles.” 

Then her father made what was for him an 
effort. “ Harkee, my little girl ; I once said the 
same to Lady Margaret herself. In old times 
I paid a visit to the Towers while Sir Victor 
was still alive, and a finer place I never stayed 
3 


34 


LEDDY MARGET. 


at. It would have pleased you ; you might 
have rummaged there to your heart’s content. 
So, when I persuaded my old friend to pitch 
her tent down here, showed her the cottage, 
and saw her fairly inducted into it, I felt, like 
you, surprised that it was not filled to overflow- 
ing with the paraphernalia of a great lady. I 
knew it could have been so ; and my only doubt 
in recommending so small a house was whether 
it would hold all the furniture that Lady Mar- 
garet would consider necessary. When I went 
and saw for myself how things were, I suggest- 
ed that she had under-estimated its proportions, 
and had brought next to nothing. What do 
you think she said to that ? ” 

“ What, papa ? ” 

“ She replied in a couple of lines I made her 
repeat twice that I might get them by heart : — 

Pilgrims who travel in the narrow way, 

Should go as little cumbered as they may. 

That was her answer ; do you understand it ? ” 
“I — I suppose so. But, papa, was not Lady 
Margaret a ‘ pilgrim ’ when she lived in state at 
Alban Towers? Why did she 4 cumber ’ her- 
self then ? ” and the speaker smiled with some- 
thing of saucy triumph, for Jenny felt that she 
had made a point. 

“ My own words — at least my own retort, 
Miss Wiseacre. I am afraid it slipped out, not 


A PILGRIM. 


35 


over delicately, before I knew what I was say- 
ing : but it gave no offence ; Lady Margaret 
knew I had no intention to offend ; and she 
shut me up a second time as good-humouredly 
though quite as completely as before. ‘ When 
you have a long journey before you/ said she, 
‘ it is very right to provide comforts and amuse- 
ments ’ (‘little amenities/ I believe were her 
words) ‘ to ease the way. I take no shame to 
myself for having been a zealous collector in my 
day/ said Lady Meg — (we all know she was, 
and had several most valuable collections). She 
then went on to say how she had taken pains to 
get together all sorts of curious and beautiful 
objects of art or whatever you call them ; how 
fond she had been of arranging and cataloguing 
them ; and what a zest such pursuits lent to her 
rather quiet life. 

“ She never was a great woman for society, I 
must tell you,” proceeded the colonel, pulling 
his moustache thoughtfully, “ never cared much 
for the usual fuss of gay folks — although the 
Towers was a hospitable house enough, and the 
pleasantest place in the world to stop at. But 
when I took courage at this to observe that 
it was my recollection of her charming rooms 
there which made her pilgrimage suggestion 
not quite comprehensible (of course one must 
say such things civilly, Jenny, else they sound 


36 


LEDDY MARGET. 


rude ; but I flatter myself I have some tact), 
Lady Margaret gave me one of her smiles — you 
noticed her smile? no woman ever had a sweeter, 
I think — and put her hand upon my arm, say- 
ing (I can hear her now), ‘Charles, who wants 
the rattletraps that have beguiled the tedium of 
the way when the journey is nearly over ? Does 
not every traveller give away to those who are 
still glad of them, the newspaper, the hot-water 
bottle, the reading-lamp, the remains of fruit 
and flowers — all that were grateful and cheering 
for the passing hour, but for which no further 
use can now be found ? ’ It was when she had 
said this, Jenny, that she presented me with 
that handsome silver flask I always carry on the 
moor. She had brought it with her, having 
been Sir Victor's — found upon him, I believe, 
on the fatal day ; and the dear old woman as- 
sured me that the pleasure of knowing I used 
it and valued it for his sake was a thousand times 
greater than any she could derive from seeing 
it in her own cupboard." 

“ She does like us to have nice things to be 
fond of, then?” cried Jenny relieved. “I was 
afraid you were going to say that Lady Mar- 
garet looked upon our gathering together of 
pretty things as — that she would think I was a 
sort of ‘ Man with the muck-rake ’ — you know, 
papa, Bunyan’s man — because I do like poking 


A PILGRIM. 


37 


about, unearthing ‘finds,’ and saving up my 
money till I can buy them.” 

“ So that is how your money goes, extrava- 
gant girl ? Well, I think you may safely tell 
Lady Meg about it. She has the keenest 
sympathy in everything of the kind. Oh no, 
I don’t fancy she would think you a bit of a 
muck-rake man, for I heard her dilate on that 
very subject once ; Sir Victor was laughing at 
her, and she replied — pretty warmly, too, for 
Meg could speak up when she chose — that the 
‘ sticks and straws ’ old Bunyan referred to 
were the worthless scum of worldly successes 
we hanker after so greedily, and snatch at so 
voraciously, whenever we get the chance — 
successes which, according to her, hindered 
instead of helping us on a Christian course, — 
kept our eyes fastened downward instead of 
setting them free to look above. I don’t fancy 
your innocent little treasure-gathering would 
ever stand between you and heaven, eh, 
Jenny? You tell Lady Margaret about it.” 

One fine bright afternoon shortly after this, 
the basket-cart on its two wheels was seen 
approaching, and its occupant proved to be 
the old lady herself, dressed in what Gibbie 
called her “ bests,” with the little handmaiden 
Katie seated by her side. There was no back 
seat. 


38 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ And Gibbie would make me bring her,” 
confided Lady Margaret, accepting the colonel’s 
arm to go within, for although she never under- 
stood why she should be cramped after driving, 
she had to own that just at first there was usually 
a little stiffness of the joints to be worked off. 
“ Charles, you know Gibbie. She would fret 
the whole time I was away if I had not some 
one with me. So because she is frightened I 
have to saddle myself with a hen-flunkey — 
that’s what I call Katie — and appear too grand 
to go about alone.” 

“ It is always useful to have a second person 
with you when driving, Lady Margaret. One 
can never tell what may happen. Your pony 
might cast a shoe.” 

“ Well, I could drive to the smithy.” 

“ No doubt, no doubt; but there are other 
things. I do not let Jenny drive without a 
stable-boy. She objects to a groom ; so do I ; 
it would be disagreeable for her along these 
lonely roads ; but we have a lad of fifteen who 
is told off for the job. And if any of the maid- 
servants were as clever in such matters as your 
Katie, I should prefer to send a ‘ hen-flunkey/ 
I assure you.” 

“Oh, Katie is very clever,” said Lady Mar- 
garet, and felt soothed. She had rather dis- 
liked driving up to Lochmadden House under 


A PILGRIM. 


39 


the implied supervision of the little whipper- 
snapper Katie. As if she had not driven 
ponies — and horses too — before Katie was ever 
born or thought of! 

And though Lady Margaret never wished to 
be younger — would not for all the world have 
seen the Gate whereof she spoke to Joanna 
Kelso recede a single pace — she did not like 
nor understand the idea that she was feeble in 
strength because ancient of days. 

She was ready to die ; glad and willing to 
die ; ever listening for the call with a watchful, 
prepared ear, — but it was too bad of Gibbie to 
think she could not manage Tom by herself. 

Gibbie, too, was simply ridiculous about other 
things. Keeking and spying if her mistress 
did but stay out in the gloaming half an hour 
beyond her usual time ; making a fuss if she 
tripped over a loose stone ; always worrying 
about weather and catching cold. “ I never 
catch cold,” quoth Lady Margaret, proudly. 

“ She was very tiresome the other day about 
something,” proceeded she, putting her hand 
to her brow with an effort to remember what 
had called forth the tiresomeness. “ Oh, I 
know ; she would not let my new evening dress 
be cut low at the neck. Now, you know, 
Charles, that I never mind how I go about 
in the day-time” — (he bowed, he knew — well) 


40 


LEDDY MARGET. 


— “ but I do feel I ought to be suitably dressed 
for the evening. And Sir Victor always liked 
me to wear a low-necked dress. Gibbie knows 
that — knows why I am so particular — but she 
made so much ado (and that before Miss Mac- 
alister, my little dressmaker) that I felt quite 
ashamed. Of course, I had to give in.” 

“ Old servants are dreadful nuisances, Lady 
Margaret.” 

Lady Margaret looked up quickly, while a 
gleam of intelligence responded to his mis- 
chievous tone. “ Not to be caught,” said she, 
shaking her head. “Too bad of you, Charles, 
and before Jenny, too! Jenny, my love, when- 
ever I come here to fire off a tirade against the 
dearest, faithfullest soul that ever breathed, 
your father makes a face like that. Look at 
him now, and you will know the face again.” 

“ But what was the end of the low-necked 
dress ? ” said Colonel Kelso, who revelled in 
these disclosures. “Are you to have it ?” 

“ My dear Charles ! I never said I wanted to 
wear a low-necked dress, now!” Lady Mar- 
garet looked properly shocked. “ I have not 
worn one — not a real one — for I can’t tell how 
many years. The last time was when I pre- 
sented Isabel ; and she presented her daughter 
half a dozen years ago ; came home from India 
on purpose. The silly little chit was only 


A PILGRIM. 


41 


seventeen, and got engaged on the voyage 
back ; engaged to a man she had scarcely seen 
a fortnight, and of whom she knew nothing 
except that he made a fuss about her pretty face. 
He was more than old enough to be her father 
too : rich, and loaded her with presents. I have 
no patience with such matches. She didn’t care 
a button for the man ; it was only to be married 
and fly about the world — there now, what an 
old scandalmonger I am ! ” suddenly breaking 
off at what Miss Jenny Kelso considered the 
most interesting point of her discourse. 

“ Oh, do go on, Lady Margaret,” said she, 
all ears. 

Lady Margaret looked at her. “No, no, my 
dear ; better not ; it only leads one to be ill- 
natured. What were we talking about before 
this ? ” 

“ Gibbie and the low-necked frock,” per- 
severed the colonel, not to be put off. 

Quick as lightning, Lady Margaret turned 
upon him. “ You’ve got it to ‘ frock ’ now, have 
you ? And it will be all over the county next, 
that Lady Margaret St. Albans, eighty years 
of age, frolics like a bairn in a low-necked 
frock, with, maybe, a blue sash-ribbon.” 

The Kelsos, father and daughter, laughed. 

“ Do be merciful to a poor benighted male 
creature, and condescend to enlighten his 


42 


LEDDY MARGET. 


ignorance ! ” cried the former. “ What in the 
name of puzzlement did Gibbie object to?” 

“ You may well say that. ’Tis the first word 
of sense you have spoken to-day, Charles. 
What did she object to? Yes, indeed. A 
few inches cut down in front ! What dress- 
makers call a ‘ V ’-shaped neck. Absolutely 
different from a really ‘ low ’ one. And I had 
such pretty lace to edge it with 1 ” There was 
real regret in her tone. 

“ And that was all ?” 

“ All.” 

“ And where was the harm of it ? ” 

Lady Margaret shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Ton my word, she might have let you have 
your own way for once. Gibbie is arbitrary 
enough, in all conscience ; but what it should 
signify to any human being how you dressed 
for your own dinner-table, where not a soul sees 
you ” 

“ I am always in the habit of dressing for 
dinner whether any one sees me or not.” Lady 
Margaret missed his point, but she closed the 
discussion with dignity. 

It was now the colonel’s turn. “This little 
girl of mine has heard that you used to be a 
great collector, Lady Margaret ; and she has 
started in a humble way.” 

“ Indeed? ” Lady Margaret was on the alert 


A PILGRIM. 


43 


in the instant. “Very glad to hear it, my dear. 
What is it, stamps, shells, butterflies ? ” 

“ N — no ; not exactly ; that is, I have been 
collecting, but I have only got a very few.” 
Jenny, shy and humble, deprecated contempt. 
“What I do like are rare old prints,” she 
owned, blushing. “ I do like them so very 
much. And I like nice editions of the books I 
am fond of. But of course I have hardly got 
any yet ” 

“ You are at the beginning, my child ; but 
what a delightful beginning ! I had a number 
of fine books once, in rare and beautiful bind- 
ings, and many a happy hour they gave me. I 
am afraid I have given them all, or nearly all, 
away; but— well, well, we shall see : there may 
be one or two left,” nodding intelligently. 
“Cultivate such tastes, Jenny; they enrich the 
mind ; they make it gloriously independent; they 
keep its edges keen and bright.” (“Stave off all 
kinds of demons, too, Charles;” aside to him.) 

“ But, Lady Margaret” — Jenny, emboldened, 
pressed nearer — “ was it not a pity — -just rather 
a pity — to scatter your collections again ? I 
mean when you had had all the trouble — 
though of course it isn’t a trouble — but still, I 
should feel dreadfully if I knew a time would 
come when I should not care for my gallery or 
my book-case.” 


44 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Lady Margaret mused a moment. There 
was a great deal she could have said, and said 
well, on the subject ; but her eye fell upon the 
bright, eager face, and in a flash she saw herself 
at Jenny’s age. She rose and laid her hand on 
the young girl’s arm. “ Frisk away, little lamb- 
kin,” she said. “ Don’t worry to understand 
the old sheep’s 4 Baa’. If you live to my age, 
you will know all about it. You don’t care for 
dolls now, Jenny?” she demanded as with an 
afterthought. 

Jenny laughed. “ No, indeed, Lady Mar- 
garet.” 

“Yet when you were a bit of a thing, as you 
seem now to me, your greatest idea of the 
privileges of being grown up was that you 
would have unlimited dolls, and unlimited time 
to play with them. Most earthly things have 
become to me like those dolls, Jenny. I give 
them, as an elder sister on the verge of woman- 
hood gives away her childhood’s treasures, to 
the younger ones.” 

“ You will soon have nothing left to give, 
however,” said Colonel Kelso with gentle 
raillery, “ if what Gibbie says is true.” 

“Ah, poor Gibbie, I am a sad thriftless crea- 
ture in her eyes.” Lady Margaret responded to 
the lighter tone in an instant. “ I believe she 
continually counts over my small possessions 


A PILGRIM. 


45 


in a sort of terror of their vanishing. I have 
a few locked drawers — for one must keep some 
little things for presents ; but I always feel a 
sort of traitor when I go to peep among them. 
And Gibbie really was very naughty to me 
about that dress, Charles,” suddenly reverting 
to her grievance ; “ although she is, and you 
know it, the best and dearest of women, she 
ought not to have allowed her own silly pre- 
judices to make her forget her place.” 

The speaker paused, then murmured to her- 
self, unmindful or oblivious of the presence 
of others. Jenny turned away, but Colonel 
Kelso, regarding his aged friend with a 
softened eye and reverential ear, caught the 
low whisper, “ Of course ; for Victor liked it ”. 
Then he too turned his head aside. 


4 6 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ WHAE’S AFTER LEDDY MARGET’S AIPPLES ? ” 

“ I am going to give a tea-party,” said Lady 
Margaret. 

“ Whae’s cornin’ ? ” demanded Gibbie. After 
which she cocked her head upon one side, and 
waited for the answer. 

For a good deal depended upon who were 
coming : and though the old servant shared her 
mistress’ hospitable Scottish instincts, she had 
charge of the catering, and regulated it accord- 
ing to her own notions. Lady Margaret would 
have fed all alike, putting the best she had to 
give upon her board — but Gibbie knew better. 
Scones and cookies might do for some, supple- 
mented by strawberry and gooseberry jam of 
her own manufacture, — but there were guests for 
whom it behoved her to provide delicacies and 
elegancies such as had graced the table in Alban 
Towers, and these necessitated procuring “ loaf- 
bread” from the town, with other accessories. 
It should never be said that Lady Margaret 
St. Albans, although now living in retire- 
ment and content with rusticity, could only 


“whae’s after leddy marget’s aipples?” 47 

entertain with the common plenty of a farmer’s 
wife. 

“Well, it’s to be a girls’ tea-party ; and the 
girls are the Misses Anstruther, Miss Nancy 
Muir, and Miss Joanna Kelso,” said Lady 
Margaret, cheerfully, conscious of a list above 
reproach. Occasionally Gibbie had almost to 
wring her mistress’ neck before she could get 
the names out of her. 

Now, however, Gibbie smiled, well pleased. 

“'Twill be Miss Jenny’s pairty then,” said 
she, graciously. “ Am thinkin’ she’s no been 
here her lane before. Ye’ll want baith tea and 
coffee,” she paused. 

“ Everything you can give us, Gibbie. They 
are all young and hungry, you know. Don’t 
be too fine, Gibbie. ’Tis not as if it were their 
fathers and mothers.” 

“ Am thinkin’ sae. Still we maun ha’e loaf- 
bread, an’ a wheen sweet things frae Sandy 
Maccallum.” 

“ They love scones, and oatcakes, and jam. 
And, Gibbie, meringues, some of your own 
meringues, that no one makes like you.” 

“ If I be to mak’ meringues I maun ha’e cream 
to put i’ them. And though they may fancy 
scones and sic like, they’re no to gang awa’ and 
say ” (mimicking) “ ‘ We’d naethin’ but scones ! ’ 
to them that asks. There maun be rolled bread- 


48 


LEDDY MARGET. 


and-butter upo’ the table, a’though naebody 
wants it — an’ fancy biscuits, an’ almond cake.” 

“ Very true, Gibbie. We must do everything 
decently and in order ; so let there be some 
dishes for show and some for use ; and, harkee, 
Gibbie,” a sudden thought striking her, “ if 
Sandy Maccallum has got a nice hunch of wed- 
ding cake — he sometimes bakes a bit over — 
bring it back with you too.” 

“I bit to gang mysel’ then ? ” But the tone 
was not inimical. “ What day’s the pairty ? 
The morn ? ” A pause. “ ’Deed, I’d best gang 
mysel’,” concluded Gibbie, casting an eye out- 
side and perceiving that the day was fine. “ I 
was thinkin’ o’ Mysie ; but whiles Sandy hasna 
jist the thing ye seek, and then you maun tak’ 
what he has — aweel, I’d best be stirrin’ then.” 
And she bustled off to make preparations. 

These mainly consisted of liberal charges to 
the younger maids to keep an eye upon their 
mistress, while careful not to intrude such super- 
vision upon her ladyship’s consciousness ; and 
having won a sort of promise from the latter to 
confine herself for the time being to the im- 
mediate precincts of the small domain, the faith- 
ful soul put on her Sunday bonnet, encased her 
person in a warm shawl, and hung a well-worn 
reticule upon her arm. 

She also put on a pair of black kid gloves ; 


“WHAE’S AFTER LEDDY MARGET’S AIPTLES ? ” 49 

for on this occasion she was not to handle the 
reins ; Lady Margaret had taken upon herself 
to desire Donald to attend Mrs. Gibson on her 
expedition. 

The order had come to Gibbie’s ken whilst 
making ready in her own attic bedroom ; and 
though her cap was off, she had almost come 
down to argue the point. 

But on second thoughts, the road was lonely, 
and she herself not so young as she had once 
been ; wherefore, although for form’s sake a 
slight demur must be made on having the fact 
duly communicated, she graciously gave in, 
almost before Lady Margaret had conceived 
such a thing possible ; thus demonstrating (and 
hoping that Mysie and Katie would see and 
take to heart) what a good obedient servant 
she was whenever a command was reasonable, 
and laid upon her in a proper manner. 

Donald also being all complaisance, the two 
started upon their jaunt — and Lady Margaret 
looked after them with a wicked eye. Lady 
Margaret could be very wicked when she chose. 

She had now a daring scheme in view ; but 
no one would ever have suspected that Gibbie 
and Donald had been got out of the way in 
order to leave the coast clear for it. 

No sooner, however, had the sharp ring of 
Shetland Tom’s hoofs died away upon the hill 
4 


50 


LEDDY MARGET. 


road, than his mistress turned airily round to 
little smiling Katie beside her at the door. “ I 
shall only be in the garden, Katie, should any- 
body call. You will easily find me if I am 
wanted.” 

‘‘Yes, my lady,” said Katie, dutifully. 

“ But, Katie ” — a pause, Lady Margaret ad- 
justing her shawl — “ do not disturb me unless 
there is any real occasion , you understand. I 
do not care for people running after me at all 
hours of the day. And I am only in the gar- 
den ; ” then hastily shifting to another line of 
defence : “ / am in the garden, Katie ; you and 
Mysie must take care of the house.” 

“Yes, my lady,” said Katie as before. She 
was a smart little puss, and careful about her pro- 
nunciation. Neither she nor Mysie would have 
demeaned themselves to say “ leddy,” nor use 
the broad idioms Mrs. Gibson did, for the world. 

Occasionally the pair were a trifle resentful 
of Gibbie’s rigorous rule, and her determina- 
tion never to be ignorant of Lady Margaret's 
whereabouts. It was overdone, they thought ; 
and when her ladyship now and then turned 
restive, as we know she did, in their hearts 
they sided with her, so long as acts of rebellion 
did not involve matters of etiquette, or attire, 
or anything really serious. 

To inveigle a sea-stained scarecrow in by 


“whae’s after leddy marget’s aipples ? ” 51 

the back-door when visitors were in the front 
room, was one thing ; to worry a peaceable old 
lady who was quietly amusing herself out of 
harm’s way when no strangers were about, was 
another. 

So, although Gibbie had told them to “ mind 
an’ tak’ a keek ” at their mistress every now 
and then, the faithless hussies in their superior 
wisdom did nothing of the kind. 

Instead, they revelled in their own affairs, 
after seeing Lady Margaret stroll unconcernedly 
out of sight ; and as they were ready with 
voluble assurances on the return of the driving 
party, and as by that time her ladyship was 
resting, as Gibbie would fain have had her rest 
oftener, on the little couch before the drawing- 
room fire, Mrs. Gibson was neither then nor 
thereafter enlightened as to what took place 
in the lower garden, whither Lady Margaret 
betook herself directly she was alone, and with- 
in whose walls neither Mysie nor Katie set 
foot that afternoon. 

We will, however, be more curious. 

As long as Lady Margaret was within sight 
of her own windows she walked, as we have 
said, with leisurely unconcern down the grass 
path which led between pretty flower borders, 
now rank with autumn growth, to the corner 
of the wall, where was a narrow archway, lead- 


52 


LEDDY MARGET. 


in g to the well-kept and amply-stocked kitchen 
garden, Donald’s special pride and delight ; 
but no sooner had she passed through this 
archway and become lost to view than the old 
lady’s demeanour underwent a change. 

A certain elegant languor which had been 
assumed, not without a purpose, dropped from 
her as by magic ; she stood still and looked 
round briskly, shrewdly. 

No one was within sight or hearing. Not 
so much as a bird hopped. 

A slow, satisfied smile overspread Lady 
Margaret’s countenance ; a roguish, mischiev- 
ous, exultant light sparkled in her eyes. Yes, 
she would do it ; of course she would do it. 
She had arranged everything, cleared away 
every obstacle, and now was to reap the re- 
ward of prudent cleverness. 

Why not ? What harm ? Was she not her 
own mistress, and was not all around her own 
also ? It was only poor, dear, tiresome Gibbie 
(and Donald, who pandered to Gibbie’s fidgets) 
who would have raised a silly outcry, and forced 
her to give up a little joke she had in view. 
The two backed up each other, and for peace’ 
sake she gave in to them, — but she did like 
sometimes to have her own way. 

Thus cogitating, her ladyship, as we say, 
looked round and round. 


“whae’s after leddy marget’s aipples?” 53 

For the purpose with which her soul was big 
was certainly rather that of eight than of eighty 
years of age, and only absolute solitude could 
warrant it. 

In her childhood Lady Margaret, motherless 
and sisterless, had been a veritable tomboy, and 
many feats of daring had she performed in com- 
pany with her only playmate (that poor, wild, 
dead brother for whom her heart was often to 
ache thereafter), and though womanhood had in 
a measure dispelled their enchantment, Nigel, 
while he lived, could always evoke a spark of 
the old “ Meg ” — especially when Meg’s foot 
was on her native soil. He and she would steal 
forth together from a side-door of the old castle, 
telling no one where they were going, or what 
they were about to do, even when Lady Mar- 
garet, with her grand English husband and her 
band of little ones, was being made an impor- 
tant personage of as guest in her father’s halls. 

Sir Victor would laugh in his sleeve, affecting 
ignorance. Had not his fancy first been caught 
by this “ wild woodnote ” in the Scottish lassie ? 

And now Lady Margaret longs with a per- 
fectly serious, deep-seated, pertinacious longing 
to mount a ladder again. She has spied just 
the little nook in one of her own apple trees, 
where she could rock herself as she used to do 
in the orchards of Derringer Castle, out of sight 


54 


LEDDY MARGET. 


among the thick, level branches, and within 
reach of the ripe, red, tempting apples. She 
would like just for once to eat an apple, swing- 
ing among the apple-tree boughs once more. 
Donald never dreamed of what she was think- 
ing when he was desired to defer gathering in 
the fruit for another week. Even Donald, 
knowing his mistress as he does, has left the 
ladder all unsuspecting on the wall close by. 

“ I don’t suppose any of them think I could 
move it,” Lady Margaret nodded to herself, 
clearing joyously the intervening space, “ but I 
am not quite done for yet, Mr. Donald ; ” and 
she grasped the ladder with experienced hands. 
“ Now then,” cried she, bearing it off (it was a 
light one, and old as she was, her muscles were 
in excellent working order), “there, that’s done ! ” 
and she came to a halt beneath the apple tree. 

A little breathless but triumphant withal, 
Lady Margaret next planted the lower end of 
the ladder firmly in the earth, having deftly in- 
serted the upper against the part of the branch 
marked out for its reception. It almost seemed 
incredible that she should have got so far with- 
out let or hindrance. Now she had only to 
mount, and the thing was done. 

It booted nothing that at other times my lady 
was not particularly fond of apples ; she was 
quite sure that nothing else would satisfy her 


“WHAE’S AFTER LEDDY MARGET’S AIPPLES ? ” 55 

hunger now. To sit and munch, looking 
far and wide from over the canopy of moss- 
barked branches, beaten flat by the sea- wind — 
to swing her feet and wonder what people 
would have thought, and how horrified Gibbie 
and the rest would have been had they known — 
could prospect be more exciting, more alluring ? 

She tested the ladder ; it was firmly set. 
She wheeled round, drew a breath, and once 
more slowly, searchingly penetrated the land- 
scape. (The landscape consisted of about half 
an acre, but Lady Margaret must be cautious 
or nothing.) Finally, out went one foot. At 
the same instant something rustled in the wood. 

Quick as lightning the foot vanished, and it 
was only the mistress of the garden looking up 
into an apple tree who might be perceived by 
any one entering through the lower gate. 

No one, however, did enter, and the rustling 
ceased. 

“ Pooh ! what a coward I am ! ” cried Lady 
Margaret, and valiantly mounted half a dozen 
steps without allowing herself to pause again. 

She then took a look up, the tree was higher 
than she had thought. 

Its branches, however, interlaced thickly, and 
she was right among them ; one, indeed, had 
to be snapped off ere further ascent could be 
made, and she started a little at the noise, for 


56 


LEDDY MARGET. 


her snap was nervous and vehement, — but she 
started still more when the next moment a loud 
“ Hollo ! ” from close by, fell like a crack of 
doom upon her ear. Clinging with both hands 
to the ladder she trembled all over. 

“ Whae’s thon ? ” cried the voice next, an 
angry, threatening voice. 

“ But he can’t see me,” reflected Lady Mar- 
garet. “ And if I keep still ” 

“ Come oot o’ yon ! ” Another shrill, imper- 
ative yell. 

No response. 

“ Come oot o’ yon, I say ! ” and there were 
sounds of scrambling and scraping. “ I see 
ye’re there ! Ye canna wun aff. Oo, ye may 
haud yer wheest, but I’m cornin’ at ye ! ” 

“ Dear me ! what shall I do ? ” groaned Lady 
Margaret, still clinging for dear life ; and in 
her perturbation she mounted a step higher. 

“ Ye’re after the aipples, are ye, Thief.” 

A heavy thud on the soft earth followed, and 
“ He has got over the wall,” concluded Lady 
Margaret, petrified on her perch. 

“ Noo we’ll see whae’s maister ! ” 

A running voice it was this time. Nemesis 
was upon her. 

“ Noo, ye limmer, ye wad steal Leddy 
Marget’s aipples, wad ye? I’ll tell Leddy Mar- 
get on ye.” 


“WHAE’S AFTER LEDDY MARGET’S AIPPLES ? ” 5 7 

Then for the first time Leddy Marget saw 
the humour of the thing. 

And she was so relieved, so instantly, in- 
expressibly relieved by perceiving that it was 
only the boy Robbie, Robbie Maconochie, the 
Post’s twelve-year-old son, with whom she had 
to deal — for all the urchin’s valour and clam- 
our — that she hardly knew whether to be more 
amused or indignant. 

“ Robbie Maconochie, come up here.” 

Robbie nearly fell flat upon his face. 

“ Do as I desire you. But wait till I am off 
the ladder,” said Lady Margaret, hoisting her- 
self with a clever twitch on to the coveted 
branch. “ Stop there ; ” for Robbie showed 
signs of fleeing the scene. “ Stop, till I am 
seated,” repeated she, scuffling along and ar- 
ranging her skirts as she went. “ Now then, 
come up. And tell me what you are doing 
breaking over the wall into my garden, and 
shouting at me in this extraordinary manner ? ” 

“ O0-00-00 ! — my leddy ” — Robbie blubber- 
ing freely, obeyed with crawling reluctance. 
“ Oo, if I’d kenned! I couldna see! An’, 
thocht I, ‘ Donal’ Stewart’s awa’ to the toun, 
an’ thonder’s some thief loon after Leddy Mar- 
get’s aipples ’ ! ” 

“ You thought that, but you thought some- 
thing else.” 


58 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Lady Margaret was herself again. With 
calm dignity, albeit her legs dangled, she be- 
held her victim inch by inch draw near ; and 
pointed to his place upon the rugged bough 
as though it had been a stool of repentance. 

And here, in this strange Hall of Justice, the 
luckless Robbie, in his own phrase, “ catched 
it ”. 

Apples and pears had been missing from the 
garden of late, and who had stolen them was 
clear that day to Robbie’s captor. He had not 
come prying round her kitchen garden, knowing 
the gardener was away, for nothing. Robbie 
might think that Donald would never know, 
and that his mistress would believe in his pre- 
tence of thief-catching, but there was an Eye 
which was never blind, and a Voice which had 
once said “ Thou shalt not steal ”. The little 
boy shook and blubbered afresh as he listened. 

It seemed to him an awful and uncanny thing 
to have the secrets of his bosom thus laid bare. 
It did not strike him as in the least peculiar that 
such a* solemn admonition should be adminis- 
tered from the boughs of an apple tree by an 
old woman, who held on with one hand as she 
spoke ; nor did Lady Margaret’s earnest face 
look the least less awe-inspiring because a grey 
lock of hair had loosened itself over her brow, 
beneath a covering displaced in the ascent. 


“whae’s after leddy marget’s aipples ? ” 59 

What he did feel was that he had been “ fun 
oot,” and what he feared was that his father 
would be told. 

But oh, blissful hearing : “ Now, Robbie,” 
said Lady Margaret in conclusion, “ I am going 
to forgive you, and I shall tell nobody anything 
about it. Robbie, you will not be punished 
this time ; and you will be a better boy in future, 
will you not ? ” 

Fervent protestations ; Lady Margaret looked 
thoughtfully at the poor little penitent atom 
hanging his remorseful head — and her lips, 
which had parted to bid him now depart and 
sin no more, closed again. Instead, she reached 
out a hand and absently plucked a large apple, 
the largest and ripest within reach. 

Robbie eyed her furtively. A deep sigh 
burst from his bosom. 

“ There,” said Lady Margaret, holding it to- 
wards him, “ take that. That is to show I for- 
give you. And, Robbie, you may come to me 
to-morrow morning — come on your way to 
school — and you shall have another.” 

“ Oo, my leddy, my leddy.” 

41 You may come every day as long as apples 
last ; and whenever you get one, Robbie, here 
or anywhere else,” Lady Margaret spoke slowly 
and impressively, “ think of what Leddy Mar- 
get said to you just now. Promise, Robbie.” 


6o 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Pro-mise,” said Robbie with a loud sob in 
the middle of the word. 

But instead of holding out the hand of a re- 
cipient, he thrust both into his trouser-pockets. 
He, too, could be magnanimous. 

“Am no wantin’ yer aipple. Keep it t’ yer- 
seT.” 

Here was a new suggestion ; Lady Margaret 
thought a moment. 

She had meant now to despatch the little 
fellow, subdued and enlightened, and once more 
enjoy her solitude and the success of her adven- 
ture ; but — “ After all, why not ? ” thought she, 
and smiled with Lady Margarets own beautiful 
smile, as she still held out the tempting fruit. 
“ My man,” said she, in the tender Scotch ac- 
cent, “ here, laddie, take it. I’ll have one too, 
and we will eat them together.” 

Oh, what would Gibbie have said ? 

Robbie, however, was sent off before Lady 
Margaret descended, which she did presently 
without further misadventure ; and having re- 
placed the ladder and seen that all was straight 
— indeed she raked the earth whereon tell-tale 
footsteps had been visible — her ladyship, owning 
some slight fatigue now that the excitement was 
over, returned to the house with the same care- 
fully regulated demeanour with which she had 
left it. 


“whae’s after leddy marget’s aipples?” 6 1 

She was just about to enter the porch when 
a small figure emerged from the side bushes, 
and timidly plucked her elbow. She halted in 
some surprise. 

“ It’s you, Robbie — well ? ” 

“It was awfy gude o’ ye to gi’e me the aipple,” 
said Robbie. He had come back to say it. 


62 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 

Lady Margaret, dressed for company, was to 
Gibbie’s mind a “ sicht for sair een 

It warmed the faithful creature’s heart to 
bring forth from the wardrobe her mistress’ 
best gown of rich brocade with lace ruffles at 
the throat and wrists, and to be allowed to 
arrange her white hair becomingly beneath a 
cap of the same rare old point. 

On such occasions Lady Margaret would 
wear some of the few ornaments she still 
possessed, and Gibbie would hand them to 
her one by one out of their faded cases. 

First and foremost would come the watch 
encrusted with rubies, which, with its long 
slender chain and bunch of seals, her ladyship 
never failed to select, having a great love and 
veneration for it. Furthermore she would 
point out to Gibbie (forgetting that she had 
often done so before) how pure and clear was 
the light of the gems, and how exquisite the 
workmanship in which they were set. Gibbie 
would listen, all the better content that she 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 63 

understood nothing of the pleasure such a 
survey gave — only finding in the other’s 
appreciation, and her own ignorance, a tangible 
and satisfactory line of demarcation. She 
would wait with patience for as long as ever 
her ladyship chose to be occupied with a trinket. 

And one was rarely put on without being 
looked at fondly, and mused over wistfully. 
Each had its memory. Some indeed Gibbie 
knew it was useless to bring forth ; she had 
once or twice been motioned hastily to restore 
a case unopened to its niche in the deep old 
drawer which, usually locked, stood open for 
the moment, — and she now never proffered 
any that had been so refused. 

But of the pins and brooches which were 
still at times in use, Lady Margaret was fondest 
of two — Nigel's diamond pins — a set he had 
had made for her wedding day, and a single 
lustrous pear-shaped pearl which hung from a 
loveknot of brilliants — the gift of a still dearer 
hand. 

“ Ah, Gibbie, if you could get me to dress 
up like this every day ! ” 

“’Deed, an’ what for suld ye do that?” 
Gibbie, possessed of the true “ contramacious ” 
nature, would fly out on the instant. “ Whae 
wants ye i’ yer braws ilka day ? ” she would de- 
mand, argumentatively. 


6 4 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Would you not like to make a dear old lady 
of me — like the old women in pictures — with 
a fringed shawl over my shoulders, a pair of 
spectacles on my nose, and a nice piece of fancy 
knitting in my lap ? ” 

“’Deed, it’s no for me to say what I’d ha’e 
yer leddyship do.” (Gibbie prim and would-be 
humble — watching her opportunity.) 

“ Only to say what you would have my lady- 
ship not do. Eh, Mrs. Gibson?” 

Then Gibbie retorted boldly, for she knew to 
what the sly laugh in Lady Margaret’s eyes re- 
ferred. “ Whan ye canna mind yer age — nor 
yer health — nor a’ the tellin’s ye ha’e had — and 
maun stravage up an’ doon wi’ great logs o’ 
wood ” 

“ Oh, Gibbie, Gibbie, it was no log, only a 
nice easy branch that Donald chopped up in a 
minute, and that made my fire crackle and flame 
cheerily for days afterwards ! And look how 
well and strong all the open-air exercise I take 
keeps me. If I led another sort of life, you 
would soon have another sort of mistress ; a 
tavered old body nodding half the day, and 
fretting and tossing half the night. How would 
you like that, Gibbie, my dear ? ” 

It was an argument that was ever cropping 
up — the appearance of the best gown would set 
it going almost invariably — and though no 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 65 

apparent result was obtained, it is possible that 
each was secretly influenced by the attitude of 
the other. 

Certainly Lady Margaret did not do quite all 
she would have done had there been no anxious, 
watchful, omniscient Gibbie to be struggled with 
or coaxed over subsequently ; while her lady- 
ship’s whimsical mode of life was on the other 
hand loyally defended in her own words, if com- 
mented upon in the presence of her devoted 
adherent. 

On the day of Lady Margaret’s tea-party, 
however, no such discussion as the above took 
place, for the very good reason that although a 
delinquency extraordinary had actually occurred 
on the previous afternoon, it may be remembered 
that Gibbie knew nothing of it. In consequence, 
the adorning of her mistress, which was to her 
so dear a delight, was in this instance unalloyed 
by any arriere penske ; and her charge was 
suffered to stand forth at last fully arrayed, not 
only without a syllable of admonition, but with 
a sense of poor Gibbie’s pride and pleasure in 
the spectacle which touched her to the heart. 

Once she had been a very pretty girl — but 
pretty girls do not make the handsomest old 
women. Lady Margaret, strongly framed, and 
with a broad, straight back that never ached, 
had, it is true, a wonderful dignity of movement 

5 


66 


LEDDY MARGET. 


in her leisurely moments, and a fine free tread 
at all times — but she had not the fragile elegance 
of some past beauties, nor the commanding mien 
of others. 

Her features were still good ; but much ex- 
posure to wind and weather had impaired the 
texture of her skin, and it was only healthy, 
whereas it might have been transparently clear 
and smooth. 

Moreover, the snowy hair, which was still 
abundant, and when dressed by Gibbie’s art, an 
important factor in softening and embellishing 
the countenance of her aged mistress, was apt 
to fly loose, and straggle, and wave in all direc- 
tions — as though in mockery of far, far away 
days, when a golden aureole had crowned the 
brows of fair Margaret Derringer. 

So that altogether it was a little difficult to 
make an ideal grande dame out of the “ Leddy 
Marget” of the country-side, supposing pre- 
conceived notions stood in the way ; and it said 
something for the quick wits of Colonel Kelso’s 
young daughter that she had not for an instant 
been misled by the appearance of her hostess 
on the occasion of her first visit to the cottage. 

Possibly Jenny had glanced at her father as 
he approached Lady Margaret. If so, she saw 
the deep respect in his eye, and the reverential 
bend of his neck. 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 67 

Certainly she fell at once beneath the spell 
which bound him captive ; and not only she but 
all the youthful recipients of her ladyship’s hospi- 
tality on the day in question, felt like courtiers 
hastening to pay homage at the feet of their 
queen, as they hurried over the misty moors to 
obey her summons. 

Gibbie, with an instinctive sense of this, was 
never more fastidious, never more in breathless 
earnest about Lady Margaret’s toilet and attire 
than in view of a girls’ tea-party. 

And the joy of seeing her faultless, flawless, 
splendid— up to the Derringer and St. Albans 
standard at every point ! 

Mute from very fulness of satisfaction, Mrs. 
Gibson, once more her ladyship’s “own woman,” 
would finally tender the fine lawn pocket-hand- 
kerchief which marked her task complete ; and 
stand back for her lady to sweep downstairs, 
with so grand an air that Lady Margaret, who 
would not for the world have wounded her by 
flippancy at such a crisis, had much ado not to 
burst out laughing in her face. 

What a rating she had escaped by Gibbie’s 
ignorance of the ladder escapade ! 

Yet when the hidden mirth had evanesced, it 
was something of a pensive countenance which 
met itself in the mirror over Lady Margarets 
mantelpiece. With the rich brocade, the old 


68 


LEDDY MARGET. 


lace, and the diamond ornaments, there seldom 
failed to steal a little thrill of sadness through 
their wearer s veins. 

When she could be bustling about, in and 
out, in her everyday attire — when the poor were 
to be fed, the sick doctored, the business of the 
day despatched — memories of other days could 
be cheerily set aside ; in holier hours they could 
bear their part in the souls exaltation and the 
vistas of faith ; but when merely arrayed for 
the reception of visitors, looking like, and yet 
unlike, the former mistress of Alban Towers, 
it was often with a sigh that Lady Margaret 
rested her head upon her hand, ere wheels 
were heard. 

To be sitting there alone — she who had once 
had so many about her ! 

How strange that she should have outlived 
nearly all of those by whom she had erst been 
surrounded ; and that of the two children yet 
living, the one should be separated from her by 
half the world, the other, by more than half a 
world of another kind ! 

If 'only Isabel were nearer — *or Robert 
kinder ! 

Or, grandchildren ? She would have adored 
grandchildren ; and at one time they had seemed 
to swarm around her — now each had his or 
her own circle, and it was a long way to the 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 69 

little hut among the sandhills ! She had once 
inadvertently overheard this said, and now left 
it to themselves to offer visits. 

Still she made no complaint, and it must not 
be supposed that the old lady was at all deserted 
by her kinsfolk. Sir Robert and his wife made 
a pilgrimage to the cottage regularly once a 
year — sometimes when, as Lady St. Albans 
protested, it was “ horribly inconvenient ” to do 
so, but “ Sir Robert thought it his duty,” — and 
they always returned from the “ duty ” with 
minds relieved, and perhaps on the part of one 
at least, an increased sense of the distance be- 
tween Devonshire and the West Coast of Scot- 
land. 

Furthermore, there were young men who now 
and again “looked up” their grandmother in 
the shooting season ; and anon a smart young 
married lady would appear with a husband, to 
whom Lady Margaret would be extremely civil, 
and who would go away quite pleased with such 
a creditable old relation — but who had never 
once seen the “ Leddy Marget ” of the sandhills. 

Of children there were very few in the family 
connection — and it was children, or quite young 
folks, whose company this girl of eighty most 
affected. 

She found the middle-aged men and matrons 
too old for her ; often engrossed by cares and 


70 


LEDDY MARGET. 


ambitions, depressed by small ailments, or en- 
gulfed in domesticity. 

She herself had always been young of heart — 
younger than her peers ; and now length of 
days and much experience tended rather to 
shake off than to rivet the worlds coil ; where- 
fore she saw with the straight eye of youth, 
valuing for their intrinsic worth men, women, 
and things. 

u We talk with Lady Margaret as if she were 
one of ourselves,” said bonnie Nancy Muir, 
discussing the subject with Joanna Kelso — 
Joanna having picked up Nancy on her way 
to the tea-party, and convoyed her in a snug 
brougham which would defy the rain threatened 
since morning. 

“ We sit and gossip like anything,” quoth 
Nancy. “After tea — and Gibbie does send up 
a tea, and expects you to eat it too — we simply 
talk for ever. Of course in summer we go 
out of doors, and perhaps play croquet, but we 
really like talking inside better. Lady Mar- 
garet is such wonderful company ; and when 
there are only us — that is Edith and Florence 
Anstruther and me (and of course you will be 
like one of us), she does not mind what she says 
any more than a girl ! She is never on the look- 
out to ‘ improve ’ us. And she never says, 

‘ Come, come ; my dears — my dears,’ as mam- 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 7 1 

ma does. Yet somehow, I don't know how it 
is, but now I think of it,” pursued Miss Nancy 
reflectively, “ we always do come away feeling 
a little sort of subdued ; and if we have been 
sore about anything — one’s affairs will go cross 
sometimes, you know ; and poor Edie Anstru- 
ther had a miserable engagement, and such rows 
at home before she would consent to break it 
off ; well, one day we were there, and she was 
sitting moping in the corner, for she never 
would speak of it to anybody, but somehow 
Lady Margaret got her by herself — and she 
cried the whole way home — and we heard di- 
rectly afterwards that it was all at an end. My 
parents looked at each other, and I heard them 
say the Anstruthers ought to be very grateful 
to Lady Margaret. Edie simply worships her 
— but we all do that. She gave Edie a pearl 
cross soon afterwards. She gave me this little 
turquoise button. She is always giving things.” 

Anon Nancy peeped behind. “ There is the 
Anstruthers’ waggonette. We are all in good 
time ; so Gibbie will be pleased. Lady Mar- 
garet doesn’t mind ; she is not one of your 
over-punctual sort ; but Gibbie’s tea and coffee 
” and she laughed in pleased anticipation. 

Jenny, who had never seen her father’s old 
friend in full dress before, had now to own how 
much it did for Lady Margaret’s appearance ; 


7 2 


LEDDY MARGET. 


and though she would have readily accepted 
her invitation at any rate, and like the rest had 
come prepared for enjoyment, it was certainly 
an agreeable surprise to find that so much care 
and pains had been bestowed upon the little 
room and its owner. 

All the flowers Lady Margaret could muster 
had been brought into the house and gave forth 
a fresh, leafy fragrance. They were not fine 
flowers ; not what she would have had at Alban 
Towers ; but they were sweet, just cut from the 
stem, and made gay spots of colour everywhere. 
Then there was a big fire of odorous woods 
and cones, mixed with good coal which spurted 
flame at every corner. 

And in the round window — (from which 
Colonel Kelso always said the view was the 
finest in the county) — there was laid out upon 
a damask table-cloth, smooth and glossy as 
satin, a tea to tempt the gods. 

Gibbie had been round it a score of times ere 
she was satisfied. Mysie had been in from the 
kitchen (under some feeble pretence ; in reality 
to see how her own cakes and those of Sandy 
Maccallum mixed, and which had the place of 
honour) — Donald had peered through the panes 
from without, and one and all had agreed in 
little Katie’s declaration, “ It looks fine 

For Gibbie, with an eye to the occasion being 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 73 

that of Miss Kelso’s cttbut , had gone great 
lengths, and outdone every previous effort. 

Yet it was not that there was any exuberance 
of profusion, but rather that each item was the 
very best of its kind — that the hot things were 
hot; the sweets, sweet; the rich, rich; every con- 
fection was also light as air — (except the wed- 
ding cake, which, as every one knows, ought to 
be heavy, and was — but baked to perfection). 
A small extempore sideboard held the over- 
flow. 

And now if any one thinks that full-fledged 
young maidens of quality, accustomed to plenty 
at home, cannot muster up special appetites for 
such a special feast, they ought to have been 
present at Lady Margaret’s tea-party. It was 
nothing but munch, munch, scrunch, scrunch, 
sip and sop for the best part of an hour. Coffee 
supplemented tea, and tea again followed coffee, 
in defiance of every hygienic theory — while we 
may be sure modicums of the wedding cake 
were secreted, with due regard to the purpose 
for which it had slily been provided — until at 
last even Gibbie, presiding in the back regions, 
was satisfied, and heard with equanimity the 
rustle of skirts, and the moving of chairs, as the 
party broke up. 

“They’re round the fire, and her ladyship in 
the middle of them,” reported Katie, going out 


74 


LEDDY MARGET. 


of the drawing-room for the last time. “ I’m 
to let the table be, my lady says. Can we call 
in the men then, Mrs. Gibson?” Upon which 
a hospitable scene, decently inferior to that of 
the drawing-room, but well appreciated by the 
young ladies' attendants, was enacted in the 
kitchen. No one ever went away hungry from 
Lady Margaret’s door, front or back. 

And now for some considerable time the little 
house was very quiet, almost as quiet as it 
would have been at that hour on an ordinary 
day. The brisk chatter interspersed by bursts 
of girlish laughter, which had rung out during 
the merry meal, softened to a low hum, 
indistinctly heard by those outside the room 
wherein the party was assembled, and abso- 
lutely inaudible through the doors which inter- 
vened between the two groups. 

It was the witching twilight hour, when no 
one thinks too closely of what is said, nor looks 
too narrowly at the face of the speaker. Lady 
Margaret, who had enjoyed herself to the top 
of her bent, when presiding at her well-spread 
board, but who had still been the hostess — even 
the old lady — entertaining her younger neigh- 
bours, gradually forgot the stiff brocade and 
ruffles, the white hair with its costly covering, 
the wrinkled hands and the lawn handkerchief. 

The latter lay under the tea-table, where it 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 75 

had slipped from her lap. Of the hands, one 
held the poker, with which she every now and 
then administered a reminder to the smoulder- 
ing logs that were too lazy to flame, and the 
other was round Jenny Kelso’s waist — Jenny 
being nearest the low stool, on which by sole 
distinction from the rest, who clustered upon 
the hearthrug, pure and simple — Lady Margaret 
sat. 

“There’s only one stool, and I think the 
eldest of the party ought to have it,” she had 
announced. You would have thought she was 
twenty by the manner of the claim. 

Would it be fair to listen to such a confid- 
ing, unsuspicious, defenceless little assemblage ? 
Would a cold-blooded ear, the ear of one who 
had neither part nor lot in the matter, not have 
hearkened impatiently, scornfully to the innocent 
prattle of four out of five, and with reproachful 
amazement to the fifth ? How was it possible, 
indignant matronhood would perchance have 
demanded, that an octogenarian, one who had 
seen generations come and go, and whose own 
end must needs be near, could not merely en- 
courage childishness, but bear her own silly 
part in it ? 

Lady Margaret, if she did not understand a 
novelty of ever-shifting fashion, was quite eager 
in obtaining an explanation. If she were in- 


76 


LEDDY MARGET. 


formed that some authority of other days had 
given place to a name unknown to her, she 
caught up the idea, and investigated it. 

She examined critically the latest cut in 
sleeves ; she was glad that ear - rings were 
shortened. 

Furthermore, there was a new and delightful 
hairpin which Nancy was sure that Lady Mar- 
garet ought to hear of, a hairpin which never 
fell out — and one was extracted to show, and 
Lady Margaret adopted it then and there. 

Presently the talk wandered off. Dress, in- 
teresting in its way, had not a supreme hold 
on the affections of any of the party. Amuse- 
ments, occupations, mutual friends, tastes and 
distastes all were rapidly passed in review ; and 
Lady Margaret — invariably listened to directly 
she opened her mouth — had as much as any 
one to say on each subject. She too had her 
grues , her people and things she detested. 
There was one person in particular at whom 
she had taken a regular scunner , she averred. 
(We shall hear more of this person presently.) 
The girls laughed till they cried over her tale 
of encounters with him. 

By-and-by Nancy began to giggle, and 
Florence Anstruther to grow red. Lady Mar- 
garet would have Florence confess. 

Lady Margaret was keen as steel to detect 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 77 

when such confessions would not be unpalatable ; 
she had never approached within a mile of poor 
Edie’s love story (in public) — but now the fun 
they had ! Florence enjoying it if possible still 
more than her tormentors ! 

At length the girls rose to go. “ Dear Lady 
Margaret, we have been so happy. You won’t 
be very long before you ask us again, will 
you?” 

“ Lady Margaret ” — Edith it was who spoke 
this time, Edith with a thoughtful look, more 
natural to her young face than the mirthful 
dimples into which it had been beguiled — “ I 
can’t think how you can be so — when we are 
all talking such nonsense — I mean about our 
marriages, and — future lives — and — and you 
know — doesn’t it seem strange to you, strange 
and unreal? You see we forget you are not 
just one of us, with everything before you,” 
she broke off, looking wistfully. 

Lady Margaret laid a tender hand upon the 
brown head, and gazed into the large eyes. 
“ You think my marriage joy is long gone by? 
Nay, my dears, the thread is only broken for 
a time — soon, soon to be reunited. When I 
hear you talk, I wish you husbands like the one 
who waits for me, true of heart and strong of 
hand, a man who feared his God, and feared 
none besides ; perhaps,” with a faint smile, “ I 


73 


LEDDY MARGET. 


think in my foolish way, that the world cannot 
yield another such as he.” 

She paused, her lip trembled, but in another 
minute she resumed blithely : “So there, you 
see, I have no need to envy your youth, and 
enchantment of possibilities. God may bless 
you as He has blessed me — I trust, I hope He 
will — but mine is a certainty. Do not think 
you have it all your own way, little girls.” 

Again she paused ; obviously there was still 
something she desired to say. 

At length, “ Perhaps some here may live to 
be my age,” said Lady Margaret, looking round 
and observing attention bent on her. “ And 
they may have seen husband, children, grand- 
children and great-grandchildren pass before 
them into the Unseen. Dears,” with a sudden 
energy, “there is but one thing — one Love, 
one Hope, one sure and steadfast Conviction, 
which can make eighty happier than eighteen. 
I would not change places with one of you for 
untold worlds. ... You think I have nothing? 
I tell you I have everything. . . . Envy you? 
No, my little ones, I do not envy you a throb 
of your hearts, a sparkle of your eyes. I may 
say as my blessed Master said, ‘ I have meat to 
eat that ye know not of’. I feed upon it daily ; 
it nourishes me well. . . . Dear girls, begin soon, 
while hearts are tender and consciences clear, to 


THE BROCADE, THE LACE, AND THE DIAMONDS. 79 

lay hold upon this Bread of Life. Do not wait 
till sorrow and sickness drag you to your 
Saviour’s feet. Go of yourselves. Give Him 
your best days ; your strength, and vigour, and 
freshness. Then, when the pace begins to 
quicken, and the world to drop away, perhaps 
you will think sometimes of the old friend you 
once knew, who at eighty — and past — declares 
before God, to whose presence she is quickly 
passing — that she would not take one single 
year from her age — no, not one year, nor one 
month, nor one day — if He Himself gave her 
the power to do so.” 


8o 


CHAPTER VI. 

“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 

Trioch Church was a queer little lonely build- 
ing, near nobody, and almost equally inconveni- 
ent for every parishioner. 

To the latter fact probably it owed its 
situation ; since it was manifestly just that no 
partiality should be shown in a district which 
did not warrant the erection of more than one 
sacred edifice ; and accordingly rich and poor 
alike had to make their way up hill and down 
dale for many a moorland mile, ere they reached 
the clump of ragged, sea-beaten trees through 
which came a gleam of white-washed walls, and 
whence issued Sabbath by Sabbath the clang- 
ing of a small, shrill bell. 

Lady Margaret had perhaps as far to go as 
anybody, but no one took less account of the 
distance, or was more seldom daunted by the 
weather. What was the use of having a strong, 
healthy pony, she said, if she could not take 
him out on a bad day? What was Tom for, 
but to let her and Gibbie go to church comfort- 
ably ? 


“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 8 1 

“ I believe, you know, that / could walk — 
give me time, and I can walk anywhere — but 
it would be too far for Gibbie,” Gibbie’s mistress 
had once confided to her friend, Colonel Kelso ; 
who, perceiving the very tender and loving 
glance which accompanied the words, had let 
his own eye rest sympathetically upon the stal- 
wart frame which the old lady thought feebler 
than her own, and nodded assent. 

Gibbie also was very certain that but for her 
ladyship’s kindness, she must needs stop at 
home on Sunday mornings. Mysie and Katie 
could foot it merrily over the good hill road — 
and one or other was always to be seen on 
alternate weeks, making one of the advance 
party, which under Donald’s escort started be- 
times, and gathered in numbers as it went — but 
Mrs. Gibson knew better than to join the de- 
tachment even when, as happened now and 
again, she would really have enjoyed the cheery, 
gossiping tramp. As long as Lady Margaret’s 
conviction that she was the stronger of the 
two did not lead her into mischief, but rather 
promoted her comfort, the wise Gibbie would 
not disturb it. 

At the kirkyard gate Donald would be wait- 
ing for his mistress, while the lassies rested 
themselves on the low wall close by — being also 
by way of waiting for their leader. Gibbie 


82 


LEDDY MARGET. 


always headed her couple into their own pew ; 
and the three walked decently in, after pony 
and cart had been duly disposed of — by which 
arrangement Mrs. Gibson was not entirely de- 
frauded of her “ crack ” at the weekly meeting- 
place. These were the only occasions on which 
she ever came into contact with the Anstruther 
and Kelso households, and felt herself once 
more own woman to a lady of quality, amongst 
others with whom it was not a condescension to 
consort. 

Lady Margaret would, however, walk straight 
into church, and into her solitary seat in front 
of a small side loft. 

No one e\*er spoke to her ladyship till the 
service was over ; they knew she did not like 
it ; that she would be ready with her friendly 
nods and inquiries presently, — but as she passed 
in, with her firm tread and composed coun- 
tenance, neighbours would involuntarily and 
respectfully hold back, while the humbler folk 
offered a silent salutation. 

Even Colonel Kelso, if he chanced to be in 
the way, would have his attention fixed in 
another direction. 

“ There she goes, don’t look at her,” he had 
whispered to Jenny on the first Sunday after 
Jenny’s home-coming. “ There goes the finest 
old woman God ever made. She’ll be lying in 


“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 83 

this little kirkyard one of these days, and the 
world will be the poorer. I never see Lady 
Meg on a Sunday without thinking how we 
shall miss her old face when that day comes. 

“But mind, Jenny,” continued the speaker, 
dropping his musing tone, “ in case you should 
be here at any time without me, that you never 
disturb Lady Margaret till she has said her 
prayers. I fancy the old heart must be pretty 
full at such times. If you notice, she never 
looks to right nor to left. Now, if we were 
inside, we should see her go straight to her 
knees. And though ’tis the fashion to gape 
and stare, and know who’s in church, and who 
isn’t, and what goes on in everybody’s pew, 
you’ll never catch one pair of eyes roving. 
Whoever may be in the pulpit , there is One 
Presence in the church for Lady Margaret. 
There’s a lesson for us all, my little maid.” 

It may be asked how Jenny came not to 
know as much of her own observation. We 
ought to have explained before that a certain 
delicacy of constitution had made it advisable 
for Colonel Kelso’s young daughter during the 
growing period of youth to be so little at 
home, that though Lady Margaret had been 
tolerably familiar to her more juvenile eyes, 
she had almost to be reintroduced now, when 
years of discretion had begun. 


8 4 


LEDDY MARGET. 


And it said something for Jenny that the 
above fell neither on a careless nor contemptuous 
ear. In spite of a boarding-school education, 
combined with the privileges of an only child — 
the only child, moreover, of a wealthy and in- 
dulgent widower — Miss Jenny Kelso actually 
listened when her father spoke, and with a few 
reservations — (for to be sure there are subjects 
as to which girls must know best, so the chits 
aver — and it is certain that whenever these crop 
up, Paterfamilias may as well hold his breath), — 
but except in cases so obvious, Colonel Kelso 
found his words of wisdom well received. 

Something perhaps was due to his star and 
medals. 

“ Papa has been a great deal about the world, 
Nancy.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; we all know that. It is not 
merely that Colonel Kelso has seen so much 
foreign service, but he travelled between whiles 
on his own account, my father says. And 
certainly one can hardly mention a place he has 
not either been to, or knows about.” 

“ I am sure I can’t,” said Jenny, who was not 
great at geography. 

“ He was well known at several of the 
European courts, was he not ? And went to 
Embassy balls, and Coronations — and all sorts 
of great ceremonies ! Just think of it ! ” 


“ THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 85 

“ Papa says it was part of his education.” 

J enny demure, but proud of heart. 

“ Dear ! How I wish it were part of mine !” 
And for a full minute after the above fervent 
ejaculation, both pretty maidens would be quite 
silent, mute before the great idea. 

So that when Colonel Kelso, with his stately 
shoulders well set, and hand in readiness to 
remove his hat at the first desirable moment, 
approached his old friend on her issuing from 
the church door, service over, neither his 
daughter nor any of her youthful contemporaries 
were inclined to bustle past. It was known to 
all with what eyes the colonel beheld Lady 
Margaret. 

And he had been the companion of princesses 
— had trodden the chambers of kings ! There 
was not one but would have been well pleased 
to be distinguished by him as was the aged 
widow — the “ Leddy Marget ” whose oddities 
and whimsicalities were familiar to all the 
country-side. 

Taking their cue perchance from him, they 
would linger round, and Leddy Marget had 
a word and nod for every one ; so that her 
pathway through the kirkyard to her little 
humble cart was always something of a Royal 
Progress. 


86 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Winter was over and spring had come. 
People who had been away on divers trips and 
jaunts had either returned to country quarters 
or were settled in London for the season ; and 
Lady Margaret St. Albans, who of all her 
neighbours had not stirred from her own fireside 
during the intermediate months, heard with 
satisfaction of the reappearance of those whose 
society she most valued, and most missed when 
the annual separation took place. 

The Anstrutners, a large family party, were 
once more reinstalled at Gorsie Knowe, the 
Muirs at Muirtown, and Colonel Kelso and his 
daughter at Lochmadden House. 

From the two former she heard of the ex- 
pected arrival of the latter ; but as this was to 
take place on a Friday evening, the old lady, 
who was not exacting, looked forward to having 
her first sight of the tall figure with its dainty 
appendage at Trioch Church. 

It was something of a disappointment not to 
be met by the colonel’s cobs turning away from 
the gate, to seek their usual temporary stable. 

“ They can’t have come, Gibbie.” 

“ Oo, they’re come,” replied Gibbie ; but she 
too looked round perplexed. “ Donald heard 
they were back, an’ met the luggage upo’ the 
road forbye. Maybe they’re late,” she sug- 
gested as an afterthought. 


“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 87 

“ They are always so punctual ! ” murmured 
Lady Margaret, somewhat disturbed. “ I hope 
— I do hope nothing is wrong,” and for once she 
broke through her practice, and accosted one of 
the Lochmadden men who stood near, and put 
his pipe in his pocket as her ladyship descended. 

“ I don’t see Colonel Kelso’s carriage, John ?” 

“ They’re awa’ in, my leddy.” John, who 
was “dull o’ hearin’,” caught the words “Colonel 
Kelso” only, and made haste to reply as he 
conceived suitably ; and it was thus owing to 
his deafness, joined to the fluster occasioned by 
so unwonted a departure on the part of his 
interrogator, that she said her prayers in peace 
that morning. For had Lady Margaret known 
what she was going to know, all the effort in 
the world would hardly have kept her mind 
from wandering. 

Out she stepped, however, serene and cheer- 
ful, with the look of peace upon her well-worn 
countenance which all knew as “ Leddy Mar- 
get’s Sunday look” — and waiting for her out- 
side, as she guessed they would be, were 
Colonel Kelso and Jenny. 

“Welcome home again, Charles. I am a 
selfish old body, who is always glad when my 
friends have had their outing, and are done with 
it. We stay-at-homes feel lonesome when you 
gayer folks desert us. But I almost thought 


88 


LEDDY MARGET. 


you had played me false,” continued Lady 
Margaret looking smilingly round, “for I did 
not see your phaeton when I arrived ; and I 
knew I was late.” 

“ Aha ! Puzzle — Where’s the phaeton ? ” re- 
joined the colonel, gaily. “You will not see it 
either to-day or henceforth at Trioch Church, 
will she, Jenny? We have learned a trick 
worth two of that, Lady Margaret.” 

“You don’t mean to say you walked ! ” cried 
she jealously. The sight of the cobs always 
vindicated her use of Tom in her eyes ; and if 
the Kelsos, who had two miles farther than she 
to traverse, had taken to doing the distance on 
foot — but the idea had scarce arisen ere it was 
dispelled. 

“ Wrong cast again ; no, we have not walked, 
but we have used our legs nevertheless,” , re- 
joined Colonel Kelso ; and any person up-to-date 
would have guessed on the instant what he 
meant, for although the bicycle craze of to-day 
had not set in at the period of which we write, 
it had its forerunner in the then novelty of 
tricycles, and a couple of smart silver-plated 
tricycles were waiting at the gate, in charge of 
the colonel’s footman. “ These are our church- 
going gees ! ” wound up the speaker, pointing 
triumphantly. He was very proud of his new 
accomplishment. 


“ THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 89 

Jenny too was smiling and exultant, while the 
footman, trying to look as if holding in a pair of 
spirited tricycles were the one thing in life to be 
desired, essayed by the grandeur of his deport- 
ment to show himself impervious to the vulgar 
curiosity of the ignorant. 

“ Charles ! ” 

Had Lady Margaret been a man, there is 
no saying what might have escaped her lips ; 
but the solitary pronunciation of his name was 
enough to make her companion start. 

“ I — yes, I thought we should surprise you,” 
said he, somewhat hastily. “ Never seen them 
before, have you, Lady Margaret ? They are 
quite the rage, however. And as for conveni- 
ence — well, we came here in half-an-hour, and 
it used to take that and more with the horses ; 
and now they are snug in their own stables — 
no bother of harnessing and unharnessing, of 
feeding and wrapping up — (I was always afraid 
of the draughty hole in yonder, if the wind were 
cold) — and only these two nice little machines to 
clean to-night, instead of a big carriage and the 
animals to boot ! That is why I say you will see 
no more of the phaeton or brougham on Sun- 
days, Lady Margaret.” 

But Lady Margaret was terribly perturbed. 
Convenient? Yes, it might be convenient — 
but there were conveniences which were not con - 


9 o 


LEDDY MARGET. 


venances, and though she held cheap as dirt out- 
ward trappings in her own case, she certainly — 
yes, certainly she did feel that this was going 
too far. 

“ The exercise is so good for papa.” Jenny, 
who by this time had learned her old friend’s 
weak side, here made an effort. 

“ Aye, indeed — that’s what it is. Jenny knows 
what my doctors are always dunning into me. 1 1 
was Jenny who thought of it first” — the father, 
true son of Adam, took up the old, old plea. 
“Jenny would have me try how I got on,” pur- 
sued he. 

Lady Margaret looked at him. “‘The wo- 
man whom Thou gavest to be with me,’ she 
tempted me. For shame, Charles, you coward,” 
said she, with a gleam of returning good hum- 
our. “To put it on poor little Jenny! But I 
suppose I am very old-fashioned ; ” she half-stif- 
fened, then sighed, finally moved through the 
gate, and struggled to repress the disgust of her 
soul. A few asides she did indeed permit her- 
self, one of which cut deep, as we shall see pre- 
sently, but they were for the colonel’s ear alone. 
The curious, ever on the look-out for such ex- 
hibitions, should not tattle of “ Leddy Marget’s ” 
dumfounderment at the sight of Colonel Kelso’s 
fancy equipages. 

“ I am very glad that you should encourage 


“ THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 91 

your father in the care of his health,” observed 
her ladyship addressing Miss Jenny, with a 
certain grim pleasure in hoodwinking the as- 
sembled audience — quite a crowd it was, for 
not a soul had budged from the roadway just 
without — “but as your — your very peculiar 
conveyances might frighten my poor little 
pony, perhaps you will kindly get clear away 
before I start ? ” 

“And you shall see how we spin.” But 
though Colonel Kelso put as good a face upon 
it as he could, he would have liked to argue 
out the matter. It would have been so easy, 
he felt, to show a woman of Lady Margarets 
sense that propriety united with convenience in 
tricycle-riding on certain occasions and under 
certain conditions. 

He would not himself advocate their use at 
all times and seasons. He would not be seen 
on one going down Pall Mall, or Piccadilly, for 
instance — he would not even care to tricycle 
in to his County Club, or Quarter Sessions, or 
Board Meeting. But hang it all ! if a man may 
not go as he chooses on a lonely moor road, 
where every soul he meets either belongs to 
his estate or knows who he is, when may he ? 
Lady Margaret herself owned no thraldom to 
public opinion — and why should he? It was 
simply absurd to let a trumpery prejudice out- 


92 


LEDDY MARGET. 


weigh all the inestimable advantages of the new 
invention ; and surely a man who had been 
about the world and rummaged four continents 
should be above prejudices ? 

But as this could not be decently entered 
into during a ten minutes’ chat on the road, 
within sight and hearing of all the country- 
side, the delinquent preferred to let it alone, 
and vent his grievance in mutterings half to 
himself, half to Jenny as they sped noiselessly 
along : and every one who knows what a soft, 
springing, heather road is, and thinks of it on 
a balmy April day, can imagine the pleasure 
of such a progress, — so that by the time the 
two reached their own gates, earlier than had 
ever been known on a Sunday before, Colonel 
Kelso, with recovered equanimity, was able to 
hearken to a suggestion of his daughter. 

“ Papa, I’ll tell you what will do it.” 

“ Do it ? Do what ? ” 

“ What will bring Lady Margaret round ! ” 

“ Bother Lady Margaret ! ” A swift return of 
the colonel’s frown. H e had really been annoyed. 

“ Oh, but we shall win her over — far better 
than ‘bothering’ her. You know that we 
scarcely ever go there without her lamenting 
the distance between us, and that we cannot 
get over oftener ? ” 

“ Aye ? ” said he cocking his ear. 


“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 93 

“Now we shall take her by storm,” cried 
Jenny, triumphantly. “We shall be over to- 
morrow afternoon, before she has dreamt of 
our going. We shall say ‘ Oh, it’s nothing. 
We can run across any day.’ We’ll tell her 
that she will never be rid of us, now that we 
can pop in and out ” 

“By Jove! I believe you are right,” said 
the colonel, brightening visibly. “ Poor dear 
soul, she won’t be able to withstand that. 
You’ve hit it, Jenny; Lady Margaret will rise 
to such a bait at the very first cast. To be 
sure, we’ll go to-morrow ; and see her face 
when she catches sight of us ! ” 

Lady Margaret was hard at work planting 
her bulbs ; and wheelbarrows of mould, to- 
gether with baskets of tulips and hyacinths, 
blocked the gravel path between her and 
Donald, when a couple of figures without any 
premonitory sounds approached. One nasty 
little cut Colonel Kelso allowed himself in 
revenge for his smarts of the previous day, 
and though he afterwards denied ever having 
said it, Jenny’s quick ear knew that it had not 
been deceived. Yes, indeed; her father cer- 
tainly did say, “ For all the world like an old 
spae wife ! ” as his eye fell on the busily en- 
grossed figure, accoutred, truth to tell, in its 
most dubious garments. 


94 


LEDDY MARGET. 


But if he did, the colonel protested, he had 
been provoked into it by Lady Margaret’s telling 
him re the tricycle — his dearest hobby of the 
hour — that something was due not only to his 
position but to his age. He could forgive the 
“ position ” — he winced at the “ age What 
man of sixty can endure such a reminder ? 

“ ‘ Age ’ and ‘ position ’ indeed ! ” muttered 
he, with a quizzical eye now — but the very ex- 
tremity of Lady Margaret’s deshabille reassured 
him. “ We have all our cranks,” he concluded, 
quite complacently, and met his old friend’s joy- 
ful cry of surprise with a beaming countenance. 

“ Here we are, you see ! You never expected 
to see us to-day, did you ? But, faith ! Lady 
Margaret, you will never know when you are 
rid of us now ! As Jenny says, we can pop 
over at any time. Came in twenty minutes by 
my watch from our own door to yours ! ” 

“ Dear me! — Charles! — Ahem! — Did you 
really ? W ell, I must say it is good of you, and 
such a pleasure to see you. Oh, I understand 
all about it, my dear man,” and he had a little 
friendly pat from the trowel, whose earthy leav- 
ings he did not in the least resent. “ You know 
how soft the old woman must be to anything 
that brings her more of her friends’ society. 
Twenty minutes from door to door ! I suppose 
I must believe it ! But it seems too wonderful ! ” 


“THESE ARE OUR CHURCH-GOING GEES.” 95 

“ And, you see, either of us can run over 
separately at any time. If I have a book to 
bring you, or a paper ” 

“Yes, yes,” said Lady Margaret, delighted. 

“ And Jenny can look in for half an hour, and 
spin back, without making any business of it, as 
we have had to do till now ” 

“ But you will not let her go about alone, 
Charles ? ” 

“No, no ; not on these roads ; she can go 
about our own grounds and to the village, — 
but not beyond. But the stable boy, the one 
who used to attend her driving, and does still, 
for that matter — I have given him a rough 
article of the same kind — good enough for him 
— and the rascal learned how to work it in an 
afternoon ! He can go like mad already, and 
will have to hold in to keep his place behind 
Jenny.” 

“ Is it so very easy to learn, then, Charles? ” 

“ Easy as twopence. Any one can learn.” 

“ Oh,” said Lady Margaret, thoughtfully. 


9 6 


CHAPTER VII. 

“AN’ NAE HAIRM TO COME O’T!” 

Once the tricycle subject was admitted to 
discussion, Lady Margaret showed that she 
possessed, what is rather an extraordinary 
thing in old age, an open mind. 

She did not yield under protest — did not put 
forth the favourite formula of a past generation, 
“It is not what I was ever accustomed to ”. 
She gave the matter her candid consideration, 
and weighed the value of every pro and con. 

“ I can understand its going against the 
grain with you,” said Colonel Kelso — and 
was proceeding, when he was arrested briskly. 

“ My dear Charles, I haven’t a ‘grain’. If 
I ever had, it has been rubbed away — ground 
against till there is not even powder left. I 
have lived long enough to shed every theory I 
ever possessed ; and see all the fixed ideas of 
my youth totter. Pray do not think I am a 
stubborn old fool.” 

“It was just because I could never think 
that, that we intruded our new acquisitions on 
you to-day, Lady Margaret. As a rule you 


“an’ nae hairm to come o’t!” 97 

are as keen as any of us about a new toy.” 
He exchanged a glance with Jenny as he spoke. 

“ Well, yes ; of all the absurdities the world 
is full of, the absurdest is that of imagining, 
because one was born at a certain date, the 
clock of time ought henceforth to stand still 
with both hands pointing to that sacred hour ! 
I must own I have no patience with dull stu- 
pidity when it starts groaning over the march 
of progress, and would rather blindfold every 
human being than have any one see what we 
did not see — than have any more light shine 
now than was accorded us and our forbears. 
The groaners get scant sympathy from me, I 
can assure you, Charles.” 

“ So I have heard them say, Lady Margaret.” 

u I suppose we shall find out how to fly 
next,” proceeded Lady Margaret, entering into 
the spirit of the thing. “There seems no 
reason why we should not — why you should 
not, at any rate,” she corrected herself, “it 
will hardly come in my day. But when I 
look back on all the wondrous changes that 
have taken place since I was a girl — most of 
all upon those of the last twenty years — I can 
scarcely believe I am still in the same humble 
planet that used to know so little about itself, 
and never troubled its head with its neighbours’ 
affairs at all,” 


7 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Ah ! you are thinking of the Mars specu- 
lations.” 

“ Mars, and the rest of them. Upon my 
word, I really do not see why we should be so 
busy over their doings, when ten to one they 
don’t reciprocate the friendly interest. I dare- 
say they look upon our earth as a trumpery 
little speck too insignificant for notice — while 
we are worrying our wits to puzzle out whether 
their inhabitants have one eye or two! Jenny, 
my dear,” concluded Lady Margaret, shaking 
her head seriously, “ I wouldn’t, if I were you, 
go hankering after a one-eyed Marsman for a 
husband. He may be very beautiful ; but it 
would be a trifle inconvenient to get at him, 
even with an aerial tricycle, or whatever may 
be the next invention.” 

Lady Margaret, however, acknowledged with 
a frankness which charmed her auditors, that 
she had been over-hasty in making a certain 
charge, which had rankled in Colonel Kelso’s 
breast ever since. He had indeed not meant 
her to discover as much ; but now that matters 
were once more smooth between the two, the 
grievance leaked out before he was aware. 
“ I must own I did not expect you to twit me 
with my age,” quoth he, plaintively. “Jenny 
knows I never set up to be a young man ; but 
if it comes to a question of strength or activity, 


“AN’ NAE HAIRM TO COME O’T ! ” 99 

I would back myself against two-thirds of the 
mashers of the day. I’d run my tricycle,” 
emphatically, “ against any one of 'em.” 

“ And I would put my bottom dollar on you ! ” 
cried Lady Margaret. “ Oh, dear, what will 
Jenny think to hear me use such words ! The 
truth is, Jenny,” passing her hand confidentially 
through the plump little arm so temptingly 
near, “a batch of American books came in my 
last box from Douglas and Foulis, and some of 
their slang is so very amusing, I say it over to 
myself. Slang is not pretty in women’s lips, 
my dear — I always stopped my girls’ using it — 
but now and then one must just break a rule, 
and ‘ bottom dollar ’ is so very expressive. Still 
Jenny — Jenny, dear — I hope you don’t speak 
slang — ahem ! — often ? ” 

“ Oh, Lady Margaret, you gave the show 
away just now,” retorted Jenny ; whereat Lady 
Margaret laughed, and they all laughed, and 
the visit was one of the merriest ever paid the 
cottage. 

In order to prove the truth of their allega- 
tions, it was of course necessary for the Kelsos 
to keep up a brisk fire of tricycle raids, and 
accordingly they seldom suffered many days to 
pass without one or other whirring down the 
steep incline to Lady Margaret’s nook among 
the sands. 


IOO 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Fine, fresh, spring weather tempted them 
to be out of doors early and late ; and the 
colonel, who had mostly done his work in life, 
and Jenny, who had not well begun hers, had 
alike a glorious sense of freedom and the virtues 
of exercise. 

At the end of a month Lady Margaret had 
become not only reconciled to the new order of 
things, but showed symptoms of being actually 
a little put out when one day, late in the after- 
noon, she was roused from a gentle doze into 
which she had fallen after a series of cottage 
visitations, by a great flashing of harness and 
trampling of hoofs, and a once familiar appari- 
tion wheeled past the window. 

“ I protest I had forgotten how you looked 
upon a box-seat, Charles.” 

“ Almost forgotten myself how it felt,” replied 
he. “ But now we have got over the first 
burst of emancipation, I daresay we shall return 
to the old cobs with zest every now and then. 
Each in its place. To-day we have been at a 
garden-party, and Jenny thought we ought to 
go in style. The Lord- Lieutenant’s, you know.” 

This was all right ; Lady Margaret was eager 
to hear about the Lord- Lieutenant’s ; who had 
been there, and what had been done ; appreci- 
ating the compliment of being taken on the 
return journey in order to be told that she had 


“AN’ NAE HAIRM TO COME O’T ! ” 


IOI 


been kindly inquired after by friends and 
acquaintances. 

“ They would have put you up, had there 
been any chance of your going,” said the colonel. 

This also was pleasant to hear ; Lady Mar- 
garet liked — as who does not ? — to be thought of 
and remembered ; no one was more grateful for 
little messages of friendly courtesy than she. 

But it was occasions such as the above which 
brought home to the old lady the restrictions 
and deprivations unfelt at other times. 

Once or twice on first taking up her abode at 
the cottage, she had attempted keeping up inter- 
course with her neighbours by the means she 
had been used to at Alban Towers. She had 
gone to their assemblies, and in return had 
offered such hospitalities as she could. 

It had cost a struggle ere she came to per- 
ceive that each effort was followed by exhaus- 
tion not to be trifled with ; and that the superior 
distance of the country houses in question from 
each other to those left behind in Devonshire, 
made it impossible to compare the two neigh- 
bourhoods. 

“Ye may say ye was used to gang oot at the 
Towers,” argued Gibbie, “but mind ye, there 
was ae gate here, an anither there — a' roon 
aboot yer ain. Ye hadna mile upo’ mile o’ 
road, an’ lang, weary avenues forbye.” 


102 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ They had long avenues, Gibbie.” 

“ Maybe. Am no mindin’. It was ta’en aff 
the road if they had. The hooses was a’ roon 
yer ain,” Gibbie would repeat obstinately. 

And in the end her mistress had to own she 
was right, and confine herself to the few places 
within easy reach, whose owners’ names have 
already appeared in these pages. 

“ I believe Gibbie’s real reason is that she 
thinks Tom would hardly do me credit,” she 
consoled herself. “Tom is certainly not a 
well-bred pony, and he does get very warm on 
hot days. I doubt if he could get as far as 
some of the places, and it would be awkward if 
he just managed to get one way and could not 
get back. After all, it’s not worth a fight with 
Gibbie,” she concluded, cheerfully. “ When I 
came to live in this quiet part of the world, I 
was prepared to give up society ; and really to 
have three sets of good neighbours within easy 
range, and dear old Dr. and Mrs. Makellar 
only a very little farther off — it is quite wonder- 
ful. I ought to be perfectly content ; ” and 
presently she was, and settled down. 

“Thank you for explaining on my behalf, 
Charles,” she said, now. “ I might perhaps 
have gone to a garden-party, even as far off as 
Castle Newton, when I first came, — but Gibbie 
wouldn’t let me then,” with a smile, “ and now 


“an’ nae hairm to come o’t!” 103 

I have got out of the way of it. As for stop- 
ping the night — it must sound ridiculous, but I 
am afraid I should not sleep well in a strange 
house. Still I am obliged to your kind hosts 
for thinking of me,” and she forgot all about the 
roar of wheels which had sounded so terrific 
when it burst in upon her slumbers. 

Only as the party drove off did she revert to 
it, and that in a manner which delighted Colonel 
Kelso. “You and Jenny are spoiling me for 
grander vehicles,” said she. “ See how I have 
come round to your tripods! You glide in so 
noiselessly through my little gate, without dis- 
turbing a stone of my gravel, that I am half 
ready to quarrel with this,” and she pointed 
archly to the marks left by a four-wheeled phae- 
ton and pair. 

“ She’ll rake them over herself, once we are 
out of sight,” nodded the colonel to his daugh- 
ter, as they turned up the hill road. “ I wouldn’t 
mind betting a fiver that if we were to come 
back in a quarter of an hour, we should find 
Lady Meg hard at work with a rake, making 
the gravel fly.” 

“ Well, papa, why shouldn’t she ? ” 

“ Why shouldn’t she ? I never said she 
shouldn’t.” 

“You spoke as if you meant that.” 

The colonel shrugged his shoulders. “ Faith, 


104 


LEDDY MARGET. 


it’s no business of mine. But if I had a couple 
of men — she has Donald and that great hulking 
lad at the stables — to keep my place in order, I 
should let them do it. I’d not keep a dog, and 
bark myself.” 

“ You said the other day you believed the 
boy was there solely to carry things to the poor 
people ; and, papa, they do keep the place beau- 
tifully ; there is never a sprig awry. If Lady 
Margaret rakes and hoes, it is because she loves 
to do it, not that she is needed to help. I 
expect,” continued Miss Jenny, laughing, “ I ex- 
pect, instead of helping, Gibbie would hinder 
her if she could.” 

“ You have found out that, have you ?” 

For Jenny was now au courant with the lines 
on which Lady Margaret’s household was ruled, 
and during the seven months which had elapsed 
since we first met her wending her way to the 
cottage, had come and gone so frequently, and 
been admitted to such unreserved freedom, 
that as often as not it was she who now in- 
structed her whilom instructor. 

A week afterwards she presented herself 
alone at Lady Margaret’s door. “Yes, Katie, 
I did not expect your mistress to be at home, 
but — oh, Mrs. Gibson,” as a black silk rustled 
in the background, “ I knew it was the prayer- 
meeting day ; and when I set out I did not mean 


“AN* NAE HAIRM TO COME O’T ! 105 

to come here at all, but William, the boy who 
goes about with me, met with an accident to his 
crazy old boneshaker, and had to stop at the 
smithy; so when they said it would take an hour 
to put it right, I thought I had better fly down 
here — as we were so close — and wait for him. 
It would have been such a long way home, and 
I thought Lady Margaret wouldn’t mind. You 
see my father does not like my going about 
alone.” 

“ ’Deed, Miss Jenny, I’m glad ye thocht on’t, 
an’ her leddyship wad say the same. Come 
ben, my dear, an’ I’ll mak’ ye a cup o’ tea, an’ 
ye’ll sit yersel’ doon an’ rest.” 

“ Oh, I should like some tea so much ; but 

as for resting ! ” J enny laughed. Then she 

essayed confidentially, “ You and I know that 
it is not good for your mistress to find visitors 
in the house when she comes back from her 
meeting ; she ought to lie down and keep quiet, 
oughtn’t she ? ” 

“ Aweel, Miss Jenny — but oh, she wad be 
vexed” — Gibbie struggled between opposing 
instincts. 

She had, after repeated contests, succeeded 
in inducing Lady Margaret to look upon her 
prayer-meeting afternoon as a close time, and 
so well was this known among such as had the 
entrde of the cottage, that Thursdays were 


io 6 


LEDDY MARGET. 


avoided like the plague by them. It had there- 
fore been not a little disconcerting to find Katie 
in parley with a visitor who ought to have 
known better, and even now, when a satisfac- 
tory explanation was offered, all was not plain 
sailing — still, to let Colonel Kelso’s daughter go 
away from the door ! 

“ Look here, Mrs. Gibson,” — Jenny solved 
the problem ere another word could be said. 
“If you could give me some tea here — now — 
let me drink it in the passage ” 

“ Hoots — Miss Jenny ! I’ the passage ! Gae 
’wa’ wi’ ye ! But the kettle is upo’ the fire.” 

“ Well, I might just step in here,” as a door 
was opened, “ but mind, Mrs. Gibson, please, I 
am to clear off the moment I’ve drunk it, and 
Lady Margaret need never know. We can 
manage it, can’t we ? I’ll run my tricycle round 
to the back, and not come near the house again, 
but mount and be off directly William appears. 
Till then I’ll prowl on the shore. No, no, I’m 
not the least tired, and I should enjoy the shore 
of all things,” and, overruling all courteous de- 
murs, the warm-hearted girl set about carrying 
out her programme. 

By the time she re-entered, having ensconced 
the tell-tale tricycle in a snug corner, secluded 
from what ought to have been Lady Margaret’s 
view on Lady Margaret’s return, a tea-tray was 


“AN* NAE HAIRM TO COME O’T ! ” 10 7 

in readiness — indeed Katie had been furnishing 
it from the moment she was no longer needed 
at the door — and having eaten and drunk and 
notified her departure with thanks, exit Miss 
Kelso, and vanish all trace of her — or so Gibbie 
fondly thinks. 

But half an hour goes by, and there is no 
trace of Lady Margaret either, which tardiness 
somewhat disturbs Gibbie. Her mistress is 
allowed to walk to and from the schoolhouse 
alone, as the small way-side building wherein 
the weekly prayer-meeting is held is barely a 
couple of miles off, and Jean Bowie, at the top 
of the hill, a “wise-like” woman, in Gibbie’s con- 
fidence, is also a regular attendant. Hitherto 
Lady Margaret has invariably been home by 
half-past four o’clock — rather before that hour 
of late — and liking to be greeted by a little 
well-feigned surprise and implied compliment 
on her walking powers. 

“Ye’re early the day! Ye maun ha’e 
„ trampit ! ” Gibbie would exclaim, the while she 
swiftly disrobed ; and for an hour or so there- 
after the cottage would be as still as a mouse, 
Lady Margaret recuperating. 

But to-day the finger of the clock points to a 
quarter to five, and what should keep her lady- 
ship out till a quarter to five even on a soft, 
sweet May day? Doubtless, however, it was 


io8 


LEDDY MARGET. 


this very softness and sweetness which proved 
too tempting, and Mrs. Gibson steps outside to 
hasten the laggard. “ She’ll be i’ the gairden,” 
she murmurs to herself. 

But no one was in the garden — not even 
Donald, of whom inquiry could have been 
made. Neither was Lady Margaret in the 
small stable-yard, or byre. No one was visible, 
or audible, in either place. 

Walking rather more quickly, Gibbie passed 
thence and unfastened a small side-gate opening 
into the road, not admitting to herself that 
she was anxious, but casting her eyes up the 
way even as her fingers fumbled at the latch 
— by which means the operation was delayed. 

Gibbie, however, did not think of this. She 
shook the gate indignantly, and bounced out 
when free at length to do so. 

The next moment she nearly bounced in 
again. She compressed her lips like iron to 
prevent a shout. All the years she had known, 
and scolded, and petted, bullied and worshipped 
the incorrigible Lady Margaret, all, we say, had 
never prepared her for such a sight as now met 
her eyes. 

With Donald running by one side, and 
Donald’s minion, Jamie Bowie, by the other, 
propelling herself slowly, but quite securely 
along on Jenny Kelso’s smart new tricycle, 


“AN’ nae hairm to COME O’t!” 109 

there was the old lady, radiant with smiles, 
brimful of excitement, and too entirely engrossed 
in the sport to have eyes or ears for anything 
else. 

A running fire of queries, warnings, and 
directions filled the air. 

Donald : “No sae fast — no sae fast. Are 
ye a’ richt ? Easy noo, my leddy ; easy noo.” 

My lady : “It will go to the side, Donald. 
That’s right, Donald — Donald ! — -Jamie ! — this 
way ! There ! Oh ” — with a gasp — “ Oh, I 
thought I was in the ditch ! ” 

Donald : “ Haud her heid straicht. See 

noo,” guiding the handle a moment. 

Lady Margaret (imperatively) : “ Let go. 
How can I steer with your hand in the way ? ” 
Then, with a sudden cry : “ Oh, Donald — 
Donald ! Turn it. Turn it quick. It will go ! ” 

Donald (darting forward, grimly triumphant) : 
“ I thocht it wad ”. 

How long they had been at it, and by what 
ill-luck the glittering trappings had caught Lady 
Margaret’s eye, suggesting the escapade, Gibbie 
booted not to inquire ; she stood there, the 
avenging Minister of Fate, with a face and 
expression which, when at length encountered 
by her eighty-year-old mistress, made her wince 
as though she were but eight. 

“ I was cornin’ to seek yer leddyship.” Every 


IIO 


LEDDY MARGET. 


syllable quivered as though surcharged with 
electricity. Gibbie’s teeth — a fine false set:, 
top and bottom — literally rattled in her mouth. 

For a moment Lady Margaret’s heart, as wc; 
say, shrivelled at the awful sight and sounds.. 
Only twice or thrice in her life-time (apart from 
religious considerations) had she braved such 
wrath ; and the bravings had taken place at 
longer and longer intervals, — but there was life 
in the old — no, no ; we would say the Derringer 
blood still flowed in Lady Margaret’s veins. 
Despite her involuntary start, she pulled her- 
self together on the instant, and mute, but 
lifting her head in a manner not to be mis- 
taken, she slowly and haughtily wheeled past 
Gibbie as though no Gibbie were there. 

Afterwards, when Donald Stewart came in 
for his share of the thunder and lightning, be- 
neath which he was expected to cower, over- 
whelmed and penitent, Donald took heart o’ 
grace, and boldly stood up to his fellow-servant. 
What were they that they should dispute the 
pleasure of their mistress ? He knew his duty, 
he did. And if Leddy Marget chose to mount 
a broom-stick he would haud its heid for her, 
let Mrs. Gibson flyte him an’ she daured. 

“ Am thinkin’ ye luikit a bit o’ an auld fule 
yersel’, when ye was buddin stan’ out o’ the 
road,” he wound up, undauntedly. 


AN’ nae hairm to come o’t!” 


Ill 


Poor Gibbie was sore at heart for a week 
afterwards that she had been so humbled before 
witnesses ; and not her lady’s best endeavours to 
make amends — for Lady Margaret, when she 
came off her high horse, was tenderly anxious 
to wipe out all recollection of the scene — could 
reinstate her in her own eyes. 

She never alluded to her disgrace ; but the 
suspicion may be hazarded that had some 
slight, very slight misadventure occurred, had 
she been able to point to bruise or scar, or even 
a momentary fright on the part of the rash 
adventuress, there would have been balm in 
Gilead ; else how could certain words which 
escaped irrepressibly when alone have been 
interpreted ? — 

“An* nae hairm to come ok!” she muttered 
beneath her breath. 


1 12 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 

We have said that there was one individual for 
whom Lady Margaret entertained an antipathy 
so profound that it could only be described by 
the expressive term a scunner , and everybody 
except the Reverend Archibald Proudfoot knew 
who that individual was. 

With her parish minister, a mild and scholarly 
divine, her own contemporary in years, Lady 
Margaret lived on terms of the friendliest 
intimacy ; indeed, she deemed his faithful dis- 
charge of his spiritual duties one of her chief 
blessings in life ; but when through failing 
health he was obliged to call in the aid of an 
assistant and successor, and brought the young 
man over in due form to be presented at the 
cottage, Mr. Proudfoot’s sponsor was conscious 
of an ominous decline in the temperature of 
Lady Margaret’s drawing-room. 

Now we all know that there are many ways 
of looking at the same thing or person ; or to be 
more exact, there are many standpoints from 
which he, she, or it may be viewed, What Dr. 


A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 113 

John Makellar required in a co-worker for his 
extensive, widely-scattered, and thinly-populated 
parish may be summed up in a few words — he 
wanted a certain amount of ability, a vast store 
of energy, and a just sense of the obligations of 
the sacred office. These essentials, it must be 
emphatically understood, he obtained in the 
assistant appointed by the Presbytery ; and 
having therefore satisfied himself that so far as 
could be judged off-hand, Mr. Archibald Proud- 
foot was the man for Trioch, he made, perhaps 
wisely, mince-meat of all trivial demurs and 
misgivings. 

But Lady Margaret, long accustomed to the 
most gentle and courteous of men, was almost 
guilty of the rudeness of starting when accosted 
by brisk familiarity and a thrust-out hand on the 
part of an enormous creature who usurped all 
the light of her window, and seemed to snuff up 
through dilated nostrils all the air of her room. 

Moreover, the creature took the initiative ; 
professed himself happy to be there ; and called 
her “Lady St. Albans”. It was more than 
could be borne. 

Previous to the visit a trifling passage-of-arms 
had taken place at the manse. 

“ I do not doubt he is an excellent young 
man,” said Mrs. Makellar, and paused so 
obviously in front of a u But ” that dulness 
8 


1 14 LEDDY MARGET. 

itself could have been at no loss to finish the 
sentence in some sort. 

“ A very able and excellent young man,” 
assented the minister. He saw the “ But,” but 
declined to recognise it. 

“ I wish he were not quite so ” Another 

pause. 

“ He is exactly what I require.” The “ So” 
was ignored as the “ But” had been. 

“Well, perhaps. I daresay. I mean no- 
thing against Mr. Proudfoot ; still, I cannot 
help wondering what Lady Margaret will ” 

“ Mr. Proudfoot is my assistant, not Lady 
Margaret’s. I have to think of the souls of my 
parishioners, not* of the tastes and sensibilities 
of a fine lady.” Then the speakers heart 
smote him. He had been betrayed into un- 
wonted asperity, and resented the suggestion to 
which it was due. 

“It is you who make out her ladyship to 
be so foolish,” cried he. “ She knows better. 
What do we want with high polish and refine- 
ment in a wild, rough place like this. We want 
a worker, not a fine gentleman ! ” 

“ Oho ! Then you own he is not a gentle- 
man?” 

“Umph!” grunted the minister. Presently 
he looked up from a brown study, and, as 
though a decision had been arrived at, an- 


A “ SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 1 1 5 

nounced : “ I shall take him and introduce him 
to Lady Margaret to-morrow 

And the morrow proved too surely that the 
wife had been the prophet, not the husband. 

Mrs. Makellar, woman-like, was on tenter- 
hooks to hear how the visit had gone off, and 
from a high window espied the returning figures 
long before they appeared at the manse. 

Distance lent enchantment to the view, cer- 
tainly. A very old man, spare and bent, 
leaning for support on the arm of a stalwart 
junior, whose stride has been modified to suit 
the feebler pace, is a sight to touch any feminine 
heart, more particularly that of the affectionate 
and anxious partner of the former’s declining 
years. Recalling the speed at which she had 
beheld Mr. Proudfoot tear along the same road 
when unencumbered the day before, Mrs. Ma- 
kellar nodded approbation to herself once or 
twice. After all, if John were to find some one 
upon whom to lean mentally as well as bodily 
in this 0 Shock-headed Peter,” it would be a 
great thing for John ; she would not be too 
nice, too niffy-naffy about trifles. She would 
put up with a stentorian voice, and tramping 
feet, and crass conceit — “ crass conceit ” had 
just been arrived at when down she must go to 
receive the pair. 

And certes, no crass conceit was written on 


II 6 LEDDY MARGET. 

her husband’s countenance ! One glance well- 
nigh dismayed the timid soul, so weary it 
looked, so rueful. Her heart almost rose in 
revolt against Lady Margaret, who, at her age, 
might have known better than to be cruel to 
one stricken in years like herself. 

But if the minister looked tired and dis- 
pirited, not so his young assistant. 

“ Here we are ! ” cried he, jubilantly. “ And 
upon my word, we had a capital time, and 
found an uncommonly nice, friendly, old lady. 
You must hear all about it ; but, meantime, 
ahem ! the doctor’s a wee thing tired,” with a 
kindly glance downwards. “ Give him a drop 
of something, Mrs. Makellar, and a good lie 
down on his bed. Don’t let go my arm, sir ; 
I’ll see you to your room.” 

(“ And, my dear, he took him off just as if he 
had been his own son.” Mrs. Makellar, with 
tears in her eyes, confided the story strictly 
under the rose, afterwards. “My poor husband 
slipped and fell at the bottom of the stairs — 
for the walk had been too much for him, though 
he never liked to allow it — and then what did 
Archibald do but lift him up in those great arms 
of his and carry him right up the staircase and 
into his own room ? Then he must have 
wrapped the doctor up in his flannel dressing- 
gown — which was hanging over the bed-board 


A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 117 

— for I found him all warm and comfortable 
when I went up ; which I didn’t do at first, 
knowing nothing of the fall, and thinking to 
follow when my husband was alone. Well, 
down comes the young man to me as easy and 
careless as if he were asking it for himself — 

‘ Can I get a spoonful of spirits for the doctor ? * 
Of course I was upset at that, for Dr. Makellar 
never touches a mouthful except at meals, and 
very little does he take then — but Archibald 
has such a cheery way. ‘ Hoots ! ’ he said, ‘ it’s 
nothing ; come up and see for yourself,’ and he 
measured out the cordial and made the doctor 
drink it, and — ‘Now,’ says he, ‘you’ll take a 
nap,’ and slipped away as still as a mouse, 
with just a nod and a wink to me as he went. 
The wink perhaps was vulgar ; but, my dear, 
what is a little vulgarity in a fine, strong, kind- 
hearted young man, who can carry up your 
husband to bed, send him to sleep, and do 
a day’s work for him in the parish before he 
wakes ? ”) 

The above might be a fond wife’s exaggera- 
tion, but it had in it a strong substratum of 
truth. Beneath an unprepossessing exterior, 
and in conjunction with a good deal that his 
friends lamented, Mr. Archibald Proudfoot pos- 
sessed many of those sterling virtues which 
sooner or later command the esteem of those 


LEDDY MARGET. 


( 


1 1 8 


whose patience is not worn out by the surface 
friction which occasionally intervenes. 

He was, as we have seen, “ Archibald ” with 
Mrs. Makellar within a very short time of his 
carrying her husband up the staircase ; and al- 
beit the neatest of housewives, in the light of 
that exploit — and of the value placed by the 
latter on his ministerial assistance — she could 
view with equanimity her hitherto spotless car- 
pets mud-beflecked, her doors reopen after 
being banged to, and the cover of every sofa or 
chair whereon the Reverend Archibald had sat, 
crumpled and creased beyond power of words 
to describe. 

No one, however, was to know anything of 
the little misadventure at the manse except the 
friend of Mrs. Makellar’ s youth, to whom it was 
confided, as we have said, with many injunctions 
to secrecy ; so that Lady Margaret St. Albans, 
who had only encountered an uncouth, disagree- 
able young man, with an amount of self-assur- 
ance that was positively paralysing, wondered 
not a little at the partiality and partisanship of 
the aged couple. 

Her own tongue must of course be tied ; no 
one had a more rigid sense of propriety on such 
points than she ; but how could they, unasked 
and uninvited, praise a person so objectionable ? 

Mrs. Makellar : “I hope you think Dr. 


A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 119 

Makellar is fortunate in his assistant, Lady 
Margaret ? ” 

Lady Margaret : “I am glad to hear Dr. 
Makellar thinks so himself”. 

“He does, indeed. I am sure I don’t know 
how he would have got through the winter 
otherwise.” 

“ But now the winter is gone, we shall all 
make a fresh start with the spring.” 

“ Archibald is really like a son to us.” 

(Lady Margaret, sotto voce: “ ‘ Archibald] 
indeed ! ”) 

“ She canna thole Proofut,” confided Gibbie 
to her intimates. “ Me ? it’s a wunner to me 
hoo he aye comes an’ comes ; for if she’s tell’t 
him ance she’s tell’t him a hunner times it’s 
ower faur, an’ she’ll excuse it. Na, he’ll no tak’ 
a tellin’. When I see thae lang legs o’ his 
trampin’ doon the road, an’ ken the luik she’ll 
gi’e me when she hears whae’s there, I’d be fain 
to rin oot an’ stop him — an’ I could think o’ 
onythin’ to say.” 

“You may say what you please. I will not 
go in.” Lady Margaret, petulant as a girl in 
her teens, had, as she protested, come to the 
end of her tether. She was at work in her 
garden, and went on with the planting out of 
her geraniums as before. 

But when presently her ladyship found that 


120 


LEDDY MARGET. 


she had been taken at her word, and that her 
delegate had deliberately fulminated a smooth 
tale founded on the grossest fiction, whereby 
the obnoxious visitor had been beguiled from 
the door, she turned upon Gibbie, as sovereigns 
have been known to do on their subjects before 
now. 

“It will be all over the place that I am ill, 
and you know well enough that I am as well as 
you, false woman/’ 

“ I ne’er said yer leddyship was ill.” 

“You said I was not well.” 

“ I bit to say somethin’.” 

“And could think of nothing better than 
that ! ” cried Lady Margaret indignantly ; but 
at the same moment she involuntarily put her 
hand to her head. Quick as lightning Gibbie’s 
face, which had been as warlike as her own, 
changed. 

“ What for suld ye be angered wi’ me for 
sayin’ ye had a heidache ? ” she whined softly, 
as though coaxing a refractory child. “ Ony- 
body micht hae a heidache i’ sic a sun. June’s 

the month for heidaches ” 

“ Did you say I had a headache? ” 

“ Jist somethin’ o’ the kind. I canna mind 
what.” Then, after a minute’s pause : “ I was 
a’maist sorry to say it, the puir cratur was i’ sic 
a heat himsel’, an’ sweer to tak’ the road again ”. 


A “ SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 


1 21 


But for once Lady Margaret’s heart was har- 
dened even to hospitality. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” 

To tell the whole truth, Gibbie and her 
mistress were not altogether in accord about 
Mr. Archibald Proudfoot. 

They had begun by being so ; by chanting in 
unison the praises of the old minister to the 
detriment of the young one ; and by each in- 
flaming the aversion of the other towards its 
unfortunate object on every possible occasion. 

But while Lady Margaret’s was a genuine, 
self-originated repulsion, that of her waiting- 
woman was but its feeble reflex ; and, moreover, 
while her wily ladyship, who was something of 
a strategist, declined coming to close quarters 
with any one likely to attack the position she 
had taken up, Gibbie could not so entrench 
herself. 

Mr. Proudfoot was popular in the district ; 
the “bairns” liked him — followed at his heels; 
he carried “ goodies ” for them in his pockets. 

He stripped off his coat, and helped to un- 
load old Dugald Smith’s coals, sending Dugald 
in out of the cold wind. 

He wheeled Widow Wilson’s crippled lad to 
the kirk on a wheel-cart of his own invention. 

At the close of a year the kind-hearted, good- 
humoured young man was a favourite in every 


122 


LEDDY MARGET. 


house except one — and even Gibbie, though 
in a manner proud of her ladyship’s squeamish- 
ness, held her tongue about it. 

“He lauchs, an’ he yawns, an’ coughs, an’ 
sneeshes, wi’ siccan a 4 hoch-hoch-ho ! ’ it’s nae 
wunner a leddy o’ quality ca’s him a coorse- 
mainnered, plebein creetur,” she argued with her 
cronie, Jean Bowie ; but though Jean assented, 
as in duty bound, before the end of the inter- 
view she had insinuated so much in favour of 
the misdemeanant, let fall so many hints that it 
was only an exalted personage such as Gibbie’s 
mistress who could reasonably take umbrage at 
him on the above grounds, that they were never 
again reverted to. Gibbie listened to both 
sides in silence when Mr. Proudfoot’s name 
was mentioned. 

At length, however, there came a day which 
brought matters to a climax. 

Lady Margaret, on emerging from a cottage 
wherein lay a sick woman, encountered another 
visitor bent on the same benevolent errand. 
She would have hurried past with a brief greet- 
ing, but Mr. Proudfoot would take no such 
dismissal. He would not forego his visit, but 
he would take Nelly Fairlie on his way back 
to the manse ; and meantime rain had begun to 
drop — he must see Lady Margaret home. He 
unfurled a huge umbrella as he spoke. 


A “ SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 123 

“ Do what I would, Gibbie, I could not 
shake the creature off!” 

“ ’Deed, an’ I think ye micht be rail thankfu’ 
to the cratur.” 

Lady Margaret looked round. Gibbie’s 

face was boiling ; her own blood fired. 

“ Thankful ? I am not thankful at all. I 
don’t see what I have to be thankful for. You 
say so because there was a skiff of rain — 

the merest skiff — and you would have me 

shelter beneath a tinker’s coat rather than wet 
my little finger — but I say it was very pre- 
suming of Mr. Proudfoot.” 

A pause. 

“ He meant well, perhaps, but I am accus- 
tomed to being obeyed,” said Lady Margaret, 
with a heightened colour. 

Gibbie was silent, with pursed lips. 

“ Even Donald would have known better 
than to force attentions when desired not to do 
so.” 

“ Maist like. The tane kens yer leddyship, 
the tither doesna.” 

“ The sooner he learns to know his own 
place the better.” 

Her ladyship, illogical and irritable, was not 
to be argued with, and Gibbie knew the mood. 
She bided her time. 

It was sure to come; invariably it needed 


124 


LEDDY MARGET. 


but the quiet hour of solitude to absorb all such 
moments of heated discussion, and her trump- 
card was still up her sleeve. Directly she 
re-entered her mistress’ presence a little later in 
the day she saw at a glance she might produce 
it. 

Lady Margaret was looking a little rueful, a 
little ashamed, and humorous withal. 

“ Gibbie, I am too hard upon that tiresome 
man. Am I not, Gibbie?” 

Gibbie stepped up to the fire, and began to 
rearrange it. “ It’s no for me to say. Yer 
leddyship has a richt to fin’ him tiresome an ye 
please.” 

Lady Margaret pouted. “It is you who are 
tiresome now, trying to provoke me afresh,” 
cried she. “You know very well you are 
longing for a scold. You have made up your 
mind to have it out about this great Galloway 
bull, round whom we have been fencing for so 
long. Well, let us have a good tilt, and be 
done with it.” 

“I’m no denyin’ I canna a’thegether agree 
wi’ ye anent Maister Proofut, but what’s my 
opeenion to onybody ? ” 

“ A truce with your humility, Mrs. Gibson ; 
we will dispense with preliminaries, and are 
graciously pleased to demand your worthless 
opinion.” Lady Margaret, aping quite absurdly 


A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 125 

well the airs of royalty, laughed at her own 
cleverness. Then, relaxing instantly, “ Out 
with it, Gibbte, dear,” she cried in her natural 
voice. “ Let us have it, for weal or woe.” 

“ He’s an unco guid son to his auld mither.” 
The bolt was shot, but its effect was not quite 
what had been anticipated. 

“ Oh!” said Lady Margaret, somewhat coldly. 
“ Yes, I have heard that before.” 

4 ‘Ye hanna heard a’. If ye please to listen, 
I can tell a tale wad mak’ — onyway it made my 
auld hairt girn. Yon puir lad — he’s come 
o’ puir fowks, an’s had nae preevileges — but 
’deed they say he’s toiled an’ slaved, an’ keepit 
baith the twa o’ them, fayther an’ mither (sae 
lang’s his fayther lived ; he deed a year syne) 
wi’ bits o’ ‘ bursaries ’ at College, an’ the like ; 
he’s keepit a roof ower their heeds ” 

“It is very creditable of him ; but get on to 
the part that’s to make me ‘girn ’.” 

“It’s yon auld skinflint, Scarroch — Macfarlane 
o’ Scarroch farm — wha’s treated the puir lad 
shamefy /” burst forth Gibbie, well started at 
last. “Ye ken the bit hoose atween the kirk 
an’ shore i’ Trioch Bay? Mony’s the day I 
ha’e heard ye say ’twad look braw i’ a pictur’. 
That may be ; but it’s no an ower guid hoos’, 
an’ Scarroch had promised to tak’ a sma’ rent, 
an’ let Maister Proofut ha’e it at Hallowe’en 


126 


LEDDY MARGET. 


term. He was to bring his mither an’ sister ; 
for, d’ye see, he’d bargained for this ’ore ever 
he cam’ to Trioch. ‘ I maun ha’e a hame for 
my auld mither,’ he tell’t the minister ; an’ the 
minister settled it wi’ Scarroch. The hoos’ wull 
no be empty till the term — nor maybe wad the 
money be ready. Onyhoo, ’twas a’ fixed ; an’ 
Jean Bowie it was wha tell’t me, an’ says she, 

‘ I’m thinkin’ ’twill brak his hairt, for he’s been 
tellin’ a’body, “ My mither’s cornin’ ; ” ’ an’ 
they think he’s been hainin’ ilka bawbee he had 
to bring her. Noo Scarroch turns roon’, an’ 
threeps times is bad, an’ he canna afford to keep 
the hoos’ i’ his ain han’s ; it maun be sold. If 
the young man wants it, he can ha’e it ; but he 
maun buy, an’ pay doon the money. Like as 
though he had a thoosan’ poon’ i’ the bank ! ” 

“ Gibbie.’’ 

“ Yes, my leddy ? ” 

“You are quite right. It does make my 
heart ‘ girn ’.” 

“ I thocht yer leddyship wad be vexed.” 

There was a pause, Lady Margaret musing ; 
finally she lifted her head. 

“ The Makellars know, of course?” 

“A’body kens, but nane can help. Na, he 
wadna tak’ saxpence frae the Queen hersel’. 
But Jean Bowie’s man heard him prayin’ an’ 
strivin’ wi’ Scarroch (auld meeser that he is — 


A “SHOCK-HEADED PETER”. 127 

no an inch wad he budge!), an Jean’s man said 
’twas the maist waefu hearin’ ; an’ when ’twas 
ower, ‘ Aweel, then,’ quo’ he, ‘ I maun gang 
to her, for there’s Ane abune wad haud me 
responsible if I thocht o’ mysel’ to her negleck ; 
an’ He’s the same wha said, “The only son o’ 
his mither, an’ she was a weedy ” 

Lady Margaret breathed quickly. It was no 
longer the old servant’s faltering accents that 
she heard. From out the mist of departed 
years another voice, tender and pleading, filled 
her ears. Oh, how dear had been the conso- 
lation offered by such love ! “ Mother, let 

nothing ever part you and me from this time. 
Mother, my home is yours for all life ! ” 

As she gazes on the far, far scene, tears 
gather faster and faster till all the little room 
is blurred, and she feels rather than sees that 
Gibbie has stolen softly to her side. 

“ Dinna tak’ on, my leddy ; waes me, I 
suldna ha’e telFt ye.” 

Lady Margaret takes her hand, presses it, and 
regains command of herself. “ Bring me my 
little writing-board, Gibbie, and come back in 
half an hour. Be sure you come back. I am 
very glad you did tell me — very glad, you 
understand. Gibbie, I shall have a letter for 
the post.” 


28 


CHAPTER IX. 

AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 

A somewhat melancholy little party was 
gathered together in the parlour of Trioch 
Manse. 

It was a dull October afternoon, and only 
one of the trio now assembled had set foot out 
of doors the livelong day ; consequently for the 
other two the hours had dragged ; and visitors 
at that period of the year being almost unknown, 
there had been no distraction for the thoughts 
of the old minister and his wife, while Archibald 
Proudfoot flew round the parish. 

But alack ! before Archibald started he had 
given them enough to think about. 

Hoping against hope, the young man had 
delayed till the last possible moment communi- 
cating the decision with which, as we know, he 
had striven to soften the heart of the miserly 
“ Scarroch,” and though his mind was made up 
to leave the neighbourhood should he be unable 
to transport his kith and kin thither, he had 
only that morning announced it as his fixed 
resolution. 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


129 


“ I would not go, if I could possibly help it. 
I like the place ; I like the people ; and as for 
you both, God bless you for your kindness to 
me ” — the loud voice which so grated on Lady 
Margaret St. Albans was softened by the 
speaker’s sincerity of feeling— “ but you know 
what the understanding was when I came 
here. I left behind a mother and sister — feeble 
folks, both of them — sometimes I doubt if I 
ought to have left them, even when such an 
opening offered ; but friends advised me, and 
my mother herself urged it. So I came, 
leaving them to struggle along as best they 
might ” 

“ Not quite that, Archibald. We know what 
you have been doing ; and if ever there were a 
good son ” 

“ Hoots, Mrs. Makellar;” the young man 
blushed furiously. 

“ Archibald is quite right,” put in the minister, 
gently. “He does his duty, and has no wish 
to be praised for it.” 

“That’s it, sir.” Archibald turned eagerly 
round. “It is only my duty; and my duty 
compels me to decide on leaving Trioch if I 
cannot make here the home for those two I 
promised my father on his deathbed. They 
have waited for it patiently — how patiently 
perhaps even I will never know. But Ellen 
9 


130 


LEDDY MARGET. 


grows thinner and paler — and it is only when 
we talk of the little house in Trioch Bay that 
both their faces brighten. No, no, Mrs. Makellar ; 
come and stop at the manse? No, no, it is not 
that would help us, thank you for it all the same ; 
you have done everything you could in that way 
already ; but my mother is getting on in years — 
set in her ways perhaps ; she could not live with 
strangers — nor would you — no, no, it’s not to be 
thought of. A home of her own — let it be the 
smallest and humblest — she must have, if I can 
give it her ! ” 

With this last word he had set forth ; and 
every house and hut within hail had been re- 
viewed by the aged couple subsequently. 

But all ended with the same conclusion. Of 
the suitable dwellings to be counted on their 
two sets of fingers, only one was near enough 
the manse for the constant inter-communication 
necessary. 

“ And well does Scarroch know that,” ob- 
served Dr. Makellar, indignation overspreading 
his thin features. “ I represented the case to 
him so plainly, that he made a virtue of taking 
a smaller rental than he might reasonably have 
expected, on the grounds that one ought not to 
count lesser considerations when it was ‘ a kirk 
question \ I remember his very words, ‘ a kirk 
question 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 131 

“ What do you think has turned him round ? ” 

“What turns every hypocrite round, and 
turns him inside out too — the love of money. 
Put money into one scale, and reputation, 
friends and a clear conscience into the other, 
and a hundred to one the hypocrite — the hypo- 
crite pure and simple — will go for the money, 
and betray himself. Scarroch has always been 
a thorn in my flesh, but I never could actually 
unmask him. I could almost be relieved that 
he has torn off his own mask, did it not affect 
so cruelly the interests of the parish — to say 
nothing of our loss and the poor lad’s disap- 
pointment.” 

Thus had they talked and were still talking, 
when a step was heard in the passage, together 
with a slight rustling which made both pause to 
listen. 

As a rule there could be no mistake about it 
when Mr. Archibald Proudfoot crossed the 
threshold of the manse ; an inexperienced per- 
son might have thought he shook himself like 
a Newfoundland dog, radiating clatter; he cer- 
tainly contrived to make the heaviest articles of 
furniture shake, and the most acquiescent, jingle. 
But now, behold ! a black-coated figure stood in 
the doorway, and scarce a sound had been heard. 
The two within simultaneously gave vent to an 
exclamation. 


132 


LEDDY MARGET. 


For the face of the new-comer wore that 
unmistakable expression which means that some- 
thing has happened. 

“ It is all over, dear friends.” Archibald’s 
very voice was altered. “ When I left the 
house this morning, I resolved to make one 
final effort. I did not tell you, for I feared even 
then it would be of no use ; but as it seemed 
necessary to take steps one way or the other, I 
went to Scarroch, and ” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Mrs. Makellar, putting her 
hands to her ears. . 

“ I can guess how you fared ; ” her husband, 
with greater self-control, endeavoured to steady 
his tremulous accents. “He would not listen 
to you.” 

“Listen? Oh, yes, he listened;” a short 
laugh ; “ he would have listened till Doomsday, 

but ” the narrator paused. “It was the 

playing of a cat with a mouse. All the while 
he had a paper in his pocket which was the 
death-warrant to my hopes. Listen ? I fancy 
Scarroch enjoyed the listening. At last he took 
out the paper — put on his spectacles — looked at 
it up and down slowly — then at me over the top 
of it. I wondered what was coming. I did not 
like his face. It had a greedy, cunning expres- 
sion ” 

“It always has that ; ” but Mrs. Makellar’s 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


133 


interpolation was arrested by a wave of her 
husband’s hand. He feared to miss a word. 

“Says Scarroch at last, ‘I’m afraid you are 
too late, Mr. Proudfoot ; I gave you the first 
offer, you will remember. It was all a man in 
my position could do. You had the refusal of 
the house — but you dilly-dallied, and now you 
have no call to complain if it is snapped up by 
some one else.’ ” 

“ Some one else ! ” Again feminine vivacity 
had to be repressed. 

“ ‘ This is the receipt for the title deeds,’ said 
Scarroch, putting it into his pocket again, ‘ and 
I sent the cheque to my bank this morning. 
Other people are more business-like than you, 
Mr. Proudfoot ; but,’ said he, jocularly, 4 we 
don’t expect the clergy to understand business 
ways. You missed your chance. For the sake 
of your cloth I would have let you have it 
cheap ’ ” 

At last the minister spoke. “ My cloth 
shall not prevent my letting Mr. Macfarlane 
have it dear /” cried he, bitterly. “Archibald, 
I hope — I trust you kept your temper, and 
refrained ” 

“Sir, I thank God I was too broken-hearted 
to utter a word. Otherwise the natural man, 
you know — and there was something so devilish 
in his enjoyment of the scene ” 


134 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ But you did not loose your tongue? Not 
even an — ejaculation, Archibald ? ” 

“ Not a syllable, sir.” 

Dr. Makellar rose and laid a trembling hand 
upon the young man’s shoulder. “That was 
right. That was well,” said he, fervently. 
“ Well done, laddie — well done. But / have a 
duty” — the blue eyes gleamed. At the same 
moment there came an interruption from with- 
out. 

Lady Margaret St. Albans’ little pony-cart 
was at the gate ; and Katie, in attendance, was 
already running up to knock at the front door. 
What, therefore, the ministers duty towards his 
treacherous parishioner might be, had to be left 
to the imagination of his hearers. 

Mrs. Makellar forgot to think of it on the 
instant. She did not very often have a call 
from Lady Margaret, and it behoved her to 
push and pat the furniture, poke the fire, and 
sweep out of sight sundry books and news- 
papers which littered the floor round her hus- 
band’s chair, ere her orderly eye could be satis- 
fied that the little parlour was fit for company. 

Neither of the men helped her; neither, to 
own the truth, cared how the room looked. 

And Lady Margaret, the moment she en- 
tered, divined how matters stood from their 
countenances alone ; and knowing what she 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


135 


knew, could not but laugh to herself, noting 
the pink colour in her old friend’s usually pale 
cheek, and the lambent fire in his eyes. 

“ Looks quite fierce! ” cried she, mentally. 

But the laugh died out of her heart as she 
glanced at the younger man, and saw how deep 
was the trouble written on his brow. 

She had come to disperse that cloud with her 
own glad tidings, and beforehand it had seemed 
a pleasant errand, easy of discharge — but now 
she must needs hurry to begin. 

“ I am afraid I have come at rather an un- 
fortunate moment. Oh, yes,” good-humouredly 
silencing a disclaimer, “ I can see you were 
having a parish talk. But I am on business 
bent, also ; so may I just despatch mine first, 
and be off? Thank you. Then, Mr. Proudfoot” 
— the speaker turned in her chair — “you are the 
person I was principally anxious to see this 
afternoon. I thought I might possibly catch 
you. I am in search of a tenant — and report 
says that you are in search of a house ; we 
might happen to suit each other ? ” 

Lady Margaret’s auditors pricked up their 
ears. The one most concerned murmured 
something inaudible. 

“ Being glad of an investment for a little 
loose cash,” proceeded her ladyship, now ad- 
dressing the friend to whom she could speak 


LEDDY MARGET. 


136 

more intimately, “ I have just completed the 

purchase of a small house close by you ” 

“ ScarrocJi s house?” It was a harsh, sharp 
cry — the cry of a human heart wrung to its core 
— which came from behind Lady Margaret’s 
chair. 

“ Does your ladyship mean — no, it can’t be 
— but there is no other house,” panted Mrs. 
Makellar, clasping her hands. 

Only the aged minister himself was silent, 
with twitching lips and flickering eyelids. 

“ The very same,” replied Lady Margaret, 
easily, as unconscious of it all. “ Macfarlane 
of Scarroch Farm, you mean? Yes, it is his 
house. And I got the title deeds from him last 
night. So I have lost no time, you see. But 
it is important to me to get a good, steady 
‘tenant — one who would not go flying off, and 
leaving it on my hands in six months or so ; — 
so understanding that Mr. Proudfoot is likely to 
settle down among us permanently, it would be 
worth my while, from a business point of view, 

to let him have it at a very modest rental 

“Oh, Lady Margaret, you can’t deceive us! 
Oh, you dear, blessed lady, you were sent to be 
an angel of mercy to us in our need ! . . . John 
— Archibald — you hear her — you understand 
what she has done ? . . . She thinks we don’t 
■” between sobs and smiles the speaker 


see 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 1 37 

paused for lack of breath. “John?” she mur- 
mured, appealingly. 

But the task was not easy, even for John. 

He cleared his throat, however, and essayed. 
“ What my wife says is true, Lady Margaret. 
We understand, and we can’t pretend not to 
understand. We two have never learned to 
make believe. The Lord bless and reward you 
for this most noble and kindly deed. You had 
heard of our trouble, and He put it into your 

heart to help us. The young man is ” he 

glanced at a back resolutely turned, coughed, 
edged his chair nearer Lady Margaret, and 
craned his neck to reach her ear — “ a wee thing 
overcome,” he whispered, nodding. 

“ So now for weal or woe I have saddled 
myself with ‘ Archibald ’ for the rest of my 
natural life ! ” cried Lady Margaret to herself, 
as she tooled home, her heart as light as a bird. 
“ And whenever I am disposed to relapse, I 
shall think of him as he was to-day. Katie,” 
aloud, “ surely it is warmer than when we 
came ? The air feels quite mild ; and what a 
lovely sunset.” 

All the land, whether gleaming beneath the 
fiery sky tints, or grey in autumn mist, looked 
alike beautiful in the speaker’s eyes. 

She had not only issued victoriously from a 


138 


LEDDY MARGET. 


s tmggl e with her baser self, but had given up 
at her Master’s call a cherished scheme, for 
which the purchase money of the cottage had 
been set aside. No wonder she felt happy — 
nay, filled with that “ peace of God which 
passeth all understanding ”. 

Little Katie thought she had never known her 
mistress in such fine spirits. Katie’s mother was 
a querulous old body, always lamenting and 
sighing over the days when she was young ; 
Katie took note that she would hold up Lady 
Margaret as an example, next time somebody 
called herself “ an auld burdock 

(“ What a look he cast on me ! And what a 
grip those Herculean fingers can give ! It was 
well my hoop was on the other hand ; but even 
as it was, I could scarce help crying out!”) Sud- 
denly Lady Margaret laughed aloud, and then 
explained that she was laughing at the recollec- 
tion of something which had occurred at the 
manse, lest Katie should think her “ daft 

She was not to know that Katie, so far from 
thinking anything of the kind, was mentally con- 
trasting this lightsome dame with a woman 
fifteen years her junior, who called herself “ an 
auld burdock ”, 

Then Gibbie had to have the scene recounted 
in full ; and though Gibbie often looked tenderly, 
wistfully, anxiously at her old mistress, her pre- 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


139 


sent bright, sympathetic approbation was some- 
thing new. 

Not a word was said of the long drive, nor 
of the late home-coming. All the faithful 
servant’s furtive little expeditions to the gate, 
all the listenings and watchings with which 
the past half-hour had been beguiled were 
left unmentioned on this occasion ; so great a 
day was not to be marred, and it was Lady 
Margaret herself who by-and-by said she would 
go to bed a little earlier than usual, as she felt 
fatigued. It amused her with her quick percep- 
tions, for once to avouch openly fatigue which 
was met only by a cheerful “ Ay, ay ; bed’s 
the best place for ye. Ye’ll be restit by the 
morn,” instead of ominous hints and presages 
of evil — Gibbie’s form of curtain lecture, when 
limits had been exceeded. 

As Mr. Archibald Proudfoot and his affairs 
are not destined to reappear in these pages, it 
may just be here recorded, that this very 
worthy young man met with no further check 
in the discharge of his filial obligations, that Dr. 
and Mrs. Makellar presided joyfully over the 
preparations of his small domain for the recep- 
tion of its new occupants when Hallowe’en term 
arrived — by which time it was duly evacuated, 
and passed into Lady Margaret’s hands — and 
that Lady Margaret’s lawyer, to the unutterable 


140 LEDDY MARGET. 

disgust of the sharp-fisted Scarroch, succeeded 
in forcing him to yield it up in proper repair. 
He had hoped that sundry leakages and break- 
ages would pass unnoticed. 

Even chirruping little Mrs. Makellar did not 
enjoy this latter fact as did her husband. His 
gentle nature, once roused, glowed like a fur- 
nace whenever “ the hypocrite’s ” name was 
mentioned. 

He put on his greatcoat, and walked down 
the road to see the masons at work. He met a 
plumber coming out of the house. 

“A’m jist i’ time,” quoth Davie Burns, know- 
ingly. “Ye micht ha’e had a bittock typhoid 
here, an’ ye’d bided a wee whiley langer, meen- 
ister.” 

“Archibald,” said the minister, hurrying home, 
“ I trust you will keep your temper, Archibald. 
Refrain, I beseech you, for the sake of peace, 
from spreading this in the parish. But / have 
a duty to perform.” 

It was the second of its kind, our readers will 
remember. And so well and thoroughly was it 
discharged, that Scarroch found another way to 
and from the moor than past the manse from 
thenceforth. 

One word more on this subject. 

With November came a visitor to Lady 
Margaret St. Albans ; her son, Robert, who had 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


141 

omitted to take his annual run north before, 
appeared almost unheralded, and without his 
wife. Florence, he said* was terribly busy ; 
overwhelmed with engagements ; he himself 
had scarcely thought it possible to break loose, 
but had made a rush for it ; he could only stop 
a couple of days. 

Lady Margaret was pleased and touched ; 
she fancied, rightly, that there had been some- 
thing of a contest ; that the feelings of the son 
had prevailed over the submission of the hus- 
band — and found Robert in this mood quite 
wonderfully amiable and agreeable. He was 
certainly pleasanter without Florence than with 
her. 

Indeed he was so chatty and sociable that to- 
wards the close of the second day motherly 
yearnings found vent in a little sigh, “ I wish 
you could have stayed longer, Robert 

Who does not like to be the subject of such 
a wish ? Sir Robert professed himself flattered, 
but feared the thing could not be done. 

“ I am so very far from you,” said Lady 
Margaret with a slight hesitation, “that if any- 
thing should happen to me ” 

“ Bless my soul ! Who have we here ? ” Sir 
Robert jumped from his chair with an alacrity 
that showed the interruption was not unwelcome. 
“ What — in — the — world ” looking alter- 


142 


LEDDY MARGET. 


nately at his mother and at a little caravan which 
drew up outside. “ Friends of yours, eh ?” 

It was Archibald Proudfoot and his women- 
folk. 

“Ok!” groaned Lady Margaret within her- 
self. 

He had all the year to choose from ; and she 
had been expecting the visit — not quite knowing 
whether she looked forward to, or shrank from 
it, yet feeling that such a mark of gratitude and 
respect was inevitable — but it was hard, yes, it 
was hard that it should have come upon her at 
this moment, in presence of the son who was 
almost a stranger, and whose sensibilities — she 
could not think of it. 

Sir Robert was still looking at her expres- 
sively, his eyebrows arched. 

“ Robert, they must come in ; they are — are 
— I cannot refuse to see them.” 

The rattling little machine crunched round 
on the gravel front, and creaked slowly away 
from the door. 

“ Oh, this will never do,” said Lady Margaret, 
rising hastily. “ Katie,” as the door opened, 
“ Katie, you knew I was at home. You should 
not turn people away. They must have seen 
me, too.” 

“If you please, my lady, I told Mr. Proud- 
foot so. Mrs. Gibson came out and told him so 


AN ANGEL OF MERCY. 


143 


too. But he said you had visitors, and he would 
not intrude. Nothing would bring him fa, my 
lady ; Mrs. Gibson will tell you the same.” And 
she put down a card. 

“What does this mean?” said Sir Robert, 
carelessly glancing at it. With undying grati- 
tude, A. P. ’ What does your friend A. P. 
profess ‘ undying gratitude ’ for ?” 

“ Dear me ! — n — nothing. Nothing to speak 
of. He — some people think so much of a 
trifle.” But confusion was painted on Lady 
Margaret’s countenance. “ Give me the card.” 

(“ Trifle, my lady? Not quite. Now I 
wonder what you have been doing to call forth 
'undying gratitude’?” quoth Sir Robert to him- 
self. He was of a suspicious nature.) 

“ I suppose, Gibson, the people hereabouts 
bleed your good mistress pretty freely ? ” he 
inquired jestingly, by-and-by. 

“My mistress, Sir Robert, is ane o’ those 
whae lets na her left han’ ken what her richt 
does,” quoth Gibbie, oracularly. 


144 


CHAPTER X. 

“YE GREEDY GLEGS.” 

“ My dear Florence — ahem ! ” said Sir Robert 
St. Albans, addressing his wife in the manner 
most likely to secure her attention. 

It was the day after his return from Scotland, 
and a certain little incident recorded in the last 
chapter had been more or less in his thoughts 
ever since it occurred. 

“ ‘ With undying gratitude, A. P.,’ ” he would 
mutter to himself when alone ; “ and Gibbie 
says her mistress does not let her know what 
she does with her money — or what comes to 
that ; for Gibbie is certainly the old lady’s 
confidante, and as jealous as a cat of having 
a finger in every pie. Her ladyship must be 
close — deuced close — if she can keep it from 
Gibbie. She ought to be saving/’ pondered 
he. “ What can she have to spend upon ? She 
has a rattling good jointure — all things con- 
sidered. To be sure, she gave back some of it 
when she left the Towers ; it would have been 
absurd if she had not, with all that stiff succes- 
sion duty to be paid, and the estate to be kept 


“YE GREEDY GLEGS.’ 


H5 


up, and the house requiring a large establish- 
ment — we simply could not have lived there 
without a proper income ; and my mother had 
the grace to see it. 

“ She paid out large sums for Maggie’s sons,” 
ruminated he further. “ I never could learn 
precisely how much, but from what did reach 
me the total must have been considerable. I 
shrewdly suspect their boys came upon her in 
their turn, too — if the truth were told. Isabel 
and her brood look up the old lady pretty well ; 
and those Derringer cousins — oh, I daresay 
among them a good deal is disbursed ; still, to 
live as she lives, let me see,” stroking his chin 
reflectively, “ it can’t cost her above five or six 
hundred a year at the very outside, and she took 
with her a thousand. Say she lives up to six — 
including her charities; she could not possibly use 
it up without those. Well, there would still remain 
four, and four in ten years mounts up to forty — 
to say nothing of the compound interest. Four 
thousand pounds added to her marriage settle- 
ment — now, is it added ? ” shrewdly, “ that’s 
what I want to know. Or, does it dribble, 
dribble, fritter, fritter away among the 4 A. P.’s ’ 
of the neighbourhood ? It seems to me some- 
body ought to know a little more of Lady 
Margaret and her doings than any one does.” 

Here Sir Robert looked long and fixedly from 
10 


146 


LEDDY MARGET. 


the window of the railway train ; for he was 
travelling south ; and this mental arithmetic 
was the prelude to that call upon his wife’s 
attention with which our chapter opens. 

He had never been an affectionate son ; and 
perhaps, for truth is truth, Lady Margaret, 
aware of this, and passionately attached to the 
elder brother, in whom she again beheld the 
“ Victor ” of her youth, had not cared to conceal 
her partiality from the younger’s jealous eyes. 

Robert had early gone out into the world, 
and neither father nor mother had deeply 
lamented. Absorbed in his own selfish interests, 
he had rarely found time to write home — and 
still more rarely to visit there ; and while for all 
the other members of the family it was the 
dearest spot on earth, it seemed an inscrutable, 
almost ironical dispensation of Providence, that 
the one who could turn his back upon it so 
lightly, should eventually become its master. 

Still more strange did it seem to those who 
knew the inner workings of the St. Albans 
family, that the venerable Lady Margaret 
should only have Robert to turn to in her old 
age — Robert, who was now precisely what he 
had promised to become, the matured, accen- 
tuated, but otherwise unchanged Robert of 
former years. Not that he was without his 
good points, and had he married another kind 


YE GREEDY GLEGS.” 


147 


of woman than the one he did, these might have 
been drawn out, and our old friend’s last years 
brightened thereby — but we have seen enough 
of Lady St. Albans to understand that, tardy as 
were Sir Robert’s dutiful compunctions in being 
awakened, they were seldom permitted to take 
effect without being combated by his wife. 

As he sat and cogitated in the train, however, 
he fancied he knew what he would say to Flor- 
ence. Florence was not for nothing the daughter 
of a sharp attorney who had made his practice. 
All the luxury and splendour of Alban Towers 
did not prevent her scrimping here and saving 
there, nor all the length of her husband’s rent- 
roll deprive her of the plea of being “ hard up” 
when it came to a subscription list. 

He had but to throw out a hint that there 
were sharks in Lady Margaret’s vicinity, and 
he thought — yes, he believed Florence would 
have the sense to see that something must 
be done. 

“ She is as hale as a three-year-old,” mused 
he, thinking of his mother’s quick eye and free 
tread. “ And I — I hope she may long remain 
so,” salving a tweak of conscience. “ The poor 
old lady was uncommonly kind and pleasant — 
uncommonly glad to see me too. I shall let 
Florence know that . She ought to think some- 
thing of that . Hang it all ! I am the nearest 


148 


LEDDY MARGET. 


relation my mother has left, and for that matter, 
the only one who is any good to her of our 
generation. Isabel is no good, stuck fast in 
India ; and it isn’t to be expected that my 
mother at her age should care to be bothered 
with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, 
who are almost strangers to her. It is her own 
son — or her own daughter — who ought to look 
after her ; and so I shall tell Florence. We 
ought to see that she is not being mulcted by a 
set of harpies. ‘ A. P.’ indeed ! I wish Flor- 
ence had been there ! ” 

“ But what were you about not to get it out 
of Gibbie ? ” cried the lady, when she was told. 
“ It seems to me that if people are cozening 

your mother ” 

“ Oh, come ! I didn’t say ‘ cozening 
“ Getting round her. Playing upon her sym- 
pathies. You say she was always inclined to 
spend ” 

“ I have heard my father say so. It was the 
only fault he ever found with her.” 

Lady St. Albans pursed her lips. “ Indeed ? 

Some husbands are extraordinarily blind ” 

“ At any rate, I have never accused you of 
that, Florence.” Sir Robert, in mortal terror 
of the ominous symptom, which had reference 
to a matter into which we need not enter, made 
haste to bring back the point at issue. “ The 


YE GREEDY GLEGS. 


149 


money bags are safe enough with you ; but I 
do think ” he paused. 

“You do think — what ? ” A steely eye fixed 
him on its point. 

“ I think — ahem ! ” — (Sir Robert was never 
the same man in his wife’s presence as out of 
it) — “ I think, my dear, that — that you might 
occasionally pay a little — a little more attention 
to my mother.” 

“Is that all ? You have said that a hundred 
times.” 

“ If I have, all I can say is,” he made an 
effort, “that my words have not precisely taken 
effect.” 

“ I am sure I do not know what you mean, 
Robert.” But in spite of herself, Lady St. 
Albans reddened a little. “ I am sure the 
times without number that I have gone off 
to that dreadful little place ! It always seems 
to come in the way whenever I want to go 
anywhere else. It is on the road to nowhere. 
All the other houses we visit in the summer 
lie on our route — that is to say, one can 
make out a route and dovetail them in — but 
Lady Margaret has chosen to hide herself in the 
very ends of the earth.” 

“ Two hours from Dumfries !” 

“And where is Dumfries? It is itself out of 
the way — out of our way, at any rate. But I go; 


i5o 


LEDDY MARGET. 


I make a point of going. You can hardly point 
to a year in which I have not offered myself. 
Of course, I cannot help it if things come in the 
way ; you would not have had me carry measles 
to your mothers cottage, over-run, I daresay, by 
all the village children? She would not have 
thanked me. And another time it was she 
herself who put me off. I must say it is rather 
too bad if Lady Margaret goes complaining to 
you ” 

“ Set your mind at rest, Lady Margaret did 
nothing of the kind.” He spoke drily ; it 
occurred to him with a curious distinctness that 
his mother had seemed perfectly satisfied with 
the length and frequency of her daughter-in- 
law^ visits. 

Even Florence had a dim perception that 
such was the case. “ I suppose you think that 
we don’t hit it off? ” She looked annoyed. 
“ The usual thing. But upon my word, I did 
not think / was to blame. Why does your 
mother never come here ? Why does she choose 
to live such an unconscionable way off? She 
could have had one of the lodges ” 

“Good heavens! Florence, what are you 
thinking of? ” Sir Robert, in genuine agitation, 
looked angrily at his wife. “ My mother ! An 
earl’s daughter! For fifty years mistress of 
this house ! To live in one of its lodges, like a 


“YE GREEDY GLEGS.” 


51 


superannuated servant! Take care, madam, 
take care,” a spark of noble feeling kindling 
into wrath as he proceeded ; “ there spoke your 
plebeian blood, Lady St. Albans. You showed 
the garron , ha-ha-ha ! A fine thing indeed it 
would have been to see you lording it at Alban 
Towers, and Lady Margaret, whose pensioners 
we are — yes, we are, madam, for a great part 
of our income — curtsying at your lodge gates ! 
Opening them for your carriage, perhaps ! 
Upon my soul, there are no limits to the pre- 
sumption of people of your class, my lady.” 

Never in her life had she seen him in such a 
passion. 

It cowed her; to be taunted with her lowly 
birth was a new thing, and she trembled to 
perceive how dexterously her husband wielded 
the weapon, which she could not recollect his 
ever before having taken in his hand. 

Supposing he were to find out its terrible 
strength? Of all things she dreaded her children 
being taught to despise her origin. 

“You entirely mistook me, Robert.” 

“ Glad to hear it, I’m sure.” But Sir Robert 
was master of the situation, and meant to 
remain so. (“ Gad, I’ve touched a raw,” said 
he, to himself.) 

And with the thought, alas! the righteous 
ire died out of his soul, and he only glowed 


152 


LEDDY MARGET. 


with sullen satisfaction as he reflected that he 
now knew sure means of bringing her ladyship 
to book another time, should she be riding him 
with too high a hand. 

Involuntarily she had winced and changed 
colour beneath his sarcasm, and the coarseness 
of his “you ” when contrasting her with the 
parent he venerated for the moment if no more ; 
and he experienced a faint sense of wonder 
that he should have hitherto permitted his 
wife to regulate his conduct towards Lady 
Margaret. 

For the future he would remember whose 
blood he had in his veins, and snap his fingers 
when the foxy old attorney, Gubbins, looked at 
him out of Florence’s eyes. 

“There was no occasion for you to be so 
rude ; ” she now struggled to look affronted and 
calm, but the tremor of her breath and a red 
spot on either cheek betrayed her. “Of course 
I only meant — I should never have supposed — 
the house would have been entirely altered — 
and enlarged ” 

“ House ? What house ? ” 

“The house I spoke of for Lady Margaret.” 

“You spoke of no ‘house,’ you said ‘ one of 
the lodges’.” 

“ Because it would have been so nice and 
near. I was only thinking of that ; not of its 


“YE GREEDY GLEGS.” 


153 


being in any way a suitable residence for your 
mother ” 

“ I should hope not, indeed.” 

“ But her having chosen such a very small 
cottage for herself ” 

“ There's more room in it than you would 
think. Besides it isn’t the size, it's the indig- 
nity I am thinking of. I wonder you aren’t 
ashamed ever to have ” 

“Indeed, my dear ” (she must be hard put to 
it indeed. As a rule he was only “my dear” 
when Florence was in the best of humours, 
never at the close of a fray) — “ Indeed, I am 
sorry to have vexed you. And I must say, 
Robert, though it is against myself, that it is 
very creditable to you to be vexed.” 

He shot a suspicious glance. Getting at him 
by flattery, was she ? 

But once disarmed, he was no match for her, 
and it only required a very little further sooth- 
ing and explaining before peace was established. 
One point, however, he gained ; Lady St. Al- 
bans promised to accompany him on a special 
mission of exploration to the cottage among the 
sandhills, and to investigate its surrounding 
native population for herself, as soon as sundry 
engagements into which she had entered would 
permit. 

“ Dear me, whatever are they coming at this 


154 


LEDDY MARGET. 


time of year for?” cried Lady Margaret, in an 
outbreak of pure dismay, as she read the civil 
little note which Sir Robert had insisted on 
seeing before it went. “ I — I thought — of course 
I am always glad to see Robert — but he was 
here so lately ; and it is such a very bad time — 
just when I had let Mysie go for her little holiday! 
Poor girl, she will have to come back at once ; 
and we must put off the painting too,” looking 
ruefully round. “ One should not think of such 
things with relations — but I did wish to have 
had this little room look nice before the sum- 
mer ; and if they had only waited till next 
month it would have been done, and they 
would have seen it fresh and bright. Gibbie 
won’t have done up my old gown either. It 
will put Gibbie dreadfully out.” 

Indeed for half the day she did not dare 
to tell Gibbie. For an hour or so she sat at 
her desk pretending to write — Gibbie never 
disturbed her at such times — and presently a 
farmer’s wife called, and Lady Margaret, who 
saw her pass, was on a sudden accessible, and 
rang the bell for Mrs. Macraw to be shown in. 

“ She can wait, gif yer leddyship’s busy,” 
quoth Gibbie, somewhat surprised at the hasty 
summons. “ Mistress Macraw is aye glad o’ a 
rest ; an’ ’deed I tell’t her it was no for me to 
say if ye wad see her at all ” 


“YE GREDDY GLEGS.” 


155 


“Oh, but I will. Show her in, Gibbie.” 

The humble neighbour disposed of, it ap- 
peared there was another applicant for ad- 
mission, but Lady Margaret’s face fell when 
she heard who it was. Charlie, the painter 
lad, one of Mrs. Gibson’s special proteges, and 
selected by her on account of his astonishing 
success in other quarters, for the redecoration 
of her mistress’ drawing-room — an event of 
immense importance to Gibbie — was in wait- 
ing to know on which day he should begin ? 

“ I tell’t him maybe Monday, my leddy.” 

“Monday?” said Lady Margaret, absently. 

Gibbie emitted a slight cough. “ Monday’s 
aye a guid day for beginnin’s,” she murmured, 
still deferential and suggestive. Charlie had 
been taken on at her request, and she experi- 
enced the delicacy of a patroness. 

“How long will it take?” inquired Lady 
Margaret, putting off the evil day. 

“ Ye’ll no see him yersel’? He’d tell better 
nor me.” 

“You can give some idea, surely, Gibbie?” 

“ Oo, I can gi’e idees — but there’s nae 
sayin\ Maybe a week, or a fortnight.” 

“ A week is not a fortnight. I must know 
definitely, for ” the unfortunate Lady Mar- 

garet strove to brace herself, “ I have — visitors 
coming. Sir Robert and Lady ” 


156 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“No herser — something between a shout 
and a groan made Gibbie’s mistress start, but 
it furnished her with a new idea. 

“ Really, Gibbie, you — you ought to let me 
finish my sentence,” quoth she, peevishly. “ I 

am a little upset to-day, and my nerves ” 

“ Are ye no weel ? ” Gibbie took a step 
forward. As a rule, Lady Margaret had no 
nerves. 

“Not — not very,” murmured the prevaricator. 
“ Y e’ll tell them sae. Y e canna ha’e comp’ny,” 
— but this would never do. 

“Gibbie,” said Lady Margaret, firmly, “I 
did not speak the truth just now. I am in my 
usual health ” — Gibbie breathed a sigh of relief 
— “ but,” continued her mistress, lifting towards 
her an eye that would have softened a far harder- 
hearted despot, “ I was afraid to tell you news 
that was not altogether welcome to myself, and 

that you, my poor Gibbie ” 

“ Me ? Yer leddyship afeard to tell me, your 
ain auld fule o’ a sairvant ! ” 

“It is so very, very unfortunate,” murmured 
Lady Margaret. 

“ Gif it's unfort’nate, what am I here for 
but to bear the brash o’t ? They’re cornin’ ? 
A weel,” a pause. “We could ha’e dune wi’oot 
them. Mysie awa’, an’ the hoose no redd 


“YE GREEDY GLEGS.” 


157 


“ I know, I know.” The two women simul- 
taneously cast disturbed glances at walls and 
ceiling, then finally at each other : Lady Mar- 
garet had no thought of concealment now. “ I 
should have put off any one else, indeed I 
should,” quoth she, earnestly. “ Gibbie, I can’t 
tell you how this proposal has — how ill-timed I 
feel it to be. But they mean kindly, and no 
doubt it is an effort on their part. You see Sir 
Robert came alone in the autumn, and ” 

“ An’ if he could ha’e corned his lane noo,” 
hinted Gibbie. 

“ It would not have upset us half so much. 
Still ” 

“ Oo, we mun bear it. IBs the wull o’ Pro- 
vidence — ahem ! — I wad say, it’s to be, an’ we 
mun mak’ the best o’t. Dinna fash yersel’, my 
leddy ; we’ll wun through. We mun ha’e Mysie 
back, an’ it’s nae maitter aboot the painter ” 

“ Oh, Gibbie, dear, I am so sorry.” 

“ Ye’ve nae need. It’s no for the likes of yer 
leddyship to be ‘ sorry ’ anent sic things. Char- 
lie can come ony time ; ’deed an’ he may be 
prood and thankfu’ ye thocht o’ him ava — you 
that could ha’e had men frae Glasgy or Dum- 
fries ” 

“ And my poor gown, too, Gibbie. They 
want to come on Monday. You will never have 
time ” 


i 5 8 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Time mun be made. Or, maybe, Miss 
Macalister ” 

“ Yes, yes ; send over for Miss Macalister at 
once.” Lady Margaret rose from her chair, 
and shook off half her troubles. “ You do cheer 
one up so, you good Gibbie ; you are a tower of 
strength to this poor old tottery body. I have 
been feeling guilty and miserable ever since this 
letter came.” 

“ I thocht ye werna jist yersel’.” 

“It was mainly on your account, Gibbie. I 
was afraid you would think it was my fault.” 

“ Losh me ! yer leddyship ! ” But as Gibbie 
went along the passage, having slid the door 
handle round with special and noiseless respect, 
she shook her fist in the direction of England. 
“ I ken what sen’s ye here ! ” she muttered, 
fiercely. “Ye greedy glegs ! An’ I ken wha’s 
sent ye, tae ! The de’il himsel’, seekin whom he 
may devour ! But ye’ll no devour her , gif auld 
Gibbie can come atween ye : na, ye’ll no that.” 
The faithful creature wiped her trembling lips 
with the corner of her apron. 

“ An’ to think she was frichted to tell me ! ” 
whispered she to herself, a lump rising in her 
throat. 


59 


CHAPTER XI. 

“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” 

“ Noo then, stir yer stumps — stir yer stumps,” 
quoth Gibbie, bustling about. 

She had bustled ever since the news of the 
forthcoming arrival was broken to her, doing 
bits of odd jobs even on the Sabbath Day itself, 
though this was not for Lady Margaret to know 
— and by the Monday, on which afternoon Sir 
Robert and his lady were due, was almost en- 
joying the forward state of preparation to which 
everything within and without the cottage had 
been brought. 

She had even had the chimneys swept — an 
unnecessary item, “ but we’ll mak’ ae job o’t,” 
reflected she, with the talent of a born organiser; 
“ the sweep bit to come some time ; an’ it’s aye 
weel to be upo’ the safe side wi’ fowk like yon ”. 

In view of Lady St. Albans’ inimical eye, 
moreover, cupboards were rummaged and the 
secrets of hiding-holes laid bare ; while the very 
drawers in Lady Margaret’s bedroom had their 
contents passed in review, sorted, and set in 
order. Gibbie, although a clean and comfort- 


l6o LEDDY MARGET. 

able woman, had not the innate neatness of 
some domestics. She could turn out her 
mistress to perfection — but she mixed matters 
behind the scenes. 

All of this amused Lady Margaret ; and 
presently finding that neither Donald without, 
nor Mysie and Katie within, resented the 
unusual call upon their energies, but rather the 
reverse — running to her with beaming faces for 
this or that instruction and permission — she 
herself took heart o’ grace, and tried to think 
she was pleased by the unwonted prospect. 

She certainly enjoyed one moment. 

“ I am expecting my son and his wife, 
Charles,” said the old lady, as Colonel Kelso 
and Jenny joined her after church on Sunday. 
“ They come to-morrow, and will remain a 
week.” 

“ Indeed ? This is not their usual time, 
Lady Margaret.” (“ Probably looking at 
shootings for the autumn,” commented the 
colonel, mentally.) 

“ No, it is not their usual time,” assented 
Lady Margaret, “ but I suppose they think the 
old woman is not so young as she once was,” 
smiling gently. “ Eighty- three next birthday, 
Charles. But, thank God, as well and strong 
as ever. I drove to Kirkintown the day be- 
fore yesterday,” added she, proudly. “ Gibbie 


“HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” l6l 

thought it would do me good ; and there were 
things needed for the house ; so Gibbie and I 
shopped about, and brought them back with us. 
I drove both ways, and even Gibbie allowed 
that Tom was so fresh he needed a firm hand 
to hold him in/’ 

“ Tom is a spirited little animal,” said the 
colonel, gravely. 

“ I thought of bringing over my guests to 
Lochmadden, Charles, if you and Jenny would 
like me to do so, and could fix a day ? ” 

“Allow us the pleasure of waiting on them 
first, Lady Margaret. May we call on Tues- 
day ? And then, if you will say what day 
would suit you best to lunch with us, we shall 
be only too glad to make your day ours.” 

“ But Jenny may have visitors ? ” 

“ Not if Lady Margaret offers Jenny a visit.” 
This from the little maid herself. Colonel 
Kelso looked at his daughter approvingly ; 
as a matter of fact, a couple of Jenny’s school- 
fellows were expected at Lochmadden, and 
were not precisely the young people to do them- 
selves credit on the occasion. He asked 
afterwards what she would have done had their 
old neighbour suggested Friday or Saturday 
for her expedition ? 

“ Put the girls off,” said Jenny, unhesitatingly 

To return, however. 

ii 


1 62 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Suppose we settle for Wednesday then, 
subject to weather?” said the colonel, and 
paused, turning something over in his mind. 
“ The winds are rather cold just know, would 
you — ah ! — were you thinking of — is not it 
something of a risk driving in an open 
carriage ? ” 

“ An open carriage ! ” Lady Margaret point- 
ed to the peaceful Tom, standing with his 
little basket cart by the churchyard gate. “ An 
open carriage ! ” She laughed merrily. 

“Your little chaise is rather exposed — that 
was all I meant,” said he, looking as civilly at 
Tom as if he had been the finest pony in the 
land. “You drive everywhere, I know; but I 
was only thinking ” — a happy idea occurring — 
“is Lady St. Albans likely to be as strong as 
you ? Some people catch cold so easily ; and 

if she is accustomed to close carriages ” 

“ Very true,” said Lady Margaret, thought- 
fully. “ I did not think of that,” subjoined she, 
after a pause of consideration. “In my own 
mind I had arranged for Sir Robert to walk, 

while we drove. But if you think ” 

(“What I think is that if madam, the attorney’s 
daughter, has to get to Lochmadden by means 
of a twopenny-halfpenny rattletrap, we shan’t 
see her there,” quoth he, to himself. “ Catch 
her coming jogging over, packed in with her 


“ HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” 1 63 

mother-in-law, and not even Lady Margaret’s 
hen-flunkey to open the gates ! ”) 

Aloud : “ Oh, the weather is very treacher- 
ous ; and you and I, braving it as we do, forget 
that others are not — have not such iron con- 
stitutions. If Lady St. Albans were to be laid 

up at the cottage ” 

“Oh, dear!” ejaculated Lady Margaret, in- 
voluntarily. 

“In view of that contingency,” proceeded the 
colonel, with a twinkle in his eye, “ I have a 
proposal to make. Let me send over for you, 
and send you back ? Lady Margaret, you and 
I are the oldest of friends, let us rap out the 
truth, and be done with it. It would be an 
awful nuisance for you to have any one laid up 

at your house, especially a fine lady ” (an 

indistinct murmur, which he perfectly under- 
stood, but affected not to hear), “ and — just think 
what it would be to Gibbie ! ” (“ That will 

fetch her,” thought he.) “I never bother you 
to immure yourself in a brougham on your own 
account, do I now ? ” proceeded Colonel Kelso, 
perceiving the impression he had made. “ But 
I think — I do think you had better, for every- 
body’s sake, not let Lady St. Albans venture 
across the open moor in Tom’s cart.” 

“And let me come over in the brougham 
and fetch you?” pleaded Jenny. 


164 LEDDY MARGET. 

Lady Margaret looked at them both. “ Thank 
you, Charles: thank you, Jenny; it is a kind, 
considerate thought, and I am gratefully and 
cordially glad to take advantage of it. The 
winds are, as you say, very cold ; and it is 
quite likely that Lady St. Albans may not be 
able to face them. I cannot answer for Lady 
St. Albans in any way. I know very little 
about her.” 

“ But it was the horrible vision of that woman 
lying coughing in her spare room, sipping 
Gibbie’s slops, and wearing Gibbie out with 
her whims and fancies, that carried the day,” 
cried the colonel triumphantly, thereafter. “ I 
saw her face change at the first suggestion of 
it ; and she would have given up the whole 
thing, rather than run the risk. But she doesn’t 
know what to do with the couple, and an outing 
to Lochmadden will dispose of one day. They 
needn’t go back till late in the afternoon.” 

“ I must see if I can do anything for Sir 
Robert,” pursued he, presently, “though I hate 
the fellow, and can’t imagine how he ever came 
to be the son of his mother. Or, indeed, of his 
father. Sir Victor was as fine a specimen of an 
English gentleman as need be — something of 
the old cavalier about him, too. And his son 
Victor, though not so handsome and striking, 
resembled him in many ways. But Robert was 


“HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” 165 

always a sneaking, cold-blooded, respectable 
rascal. Must have harked back to some old 
forgotten strain in the St. Albans family— for 
HI be hanged if it’s the Derringers he takes 
after. A sad pity he’s the only one left. Poor 
Louis, a delicate, high-bred little man, with fair 
hair and a taste for the fine arts, would have 
been a better son to Lady Margaret — aye, and 
a better head of the family too — than Robert.” 

All of which, however, did not obviate the 
necessity of looking after Sir Robert for Lady 
Margaret’s sake, and to ease her of the burden 
which Colonel Kelso more than suspected was 
already looming on her horizon in colours suffi- 
ciently dark — wherefore, though not without 
a wry face, he set himself to concoct various 
little plans for the week. It was not to be 
thought of that an interloper should be per- 
mitted to hang about the cottage, flustering its 
inmates, and interfering with their avocations ; 
he must be forcibly extracted, if he would not 
come of his own free will. 

Lady Margaret on her part also had an idea 
that this would be the case. “ ’Tis a comfort I 
have let the Kelsos know,” reflected she. 

And when Monday came, it was one of the 
most glorious days of the year. 

Following in her mind’s eye the travellers as 
they sped Northwards, she pictured them from 


* 1 66 


LEDDY MARGET. 


point to point, now at Liverpool, now at Pres- 
ton, now at Carlisle — recalled that they would 
catch a gleam of waters at Morecambe Bay, 
and a stretch of moorland once across the 
Border — and as the afternoon wore on, took a 
proprietors pride in the red March sunset 
which overspread sky and land, and which they 
must now be hurrying, as it were, to meet. 

By six o'clock she was dressed and waiting ; 
and the sun sinking in unclouded splendour, 
filled the room in which she sat. 

“ A’m thinkin’ they suld be here,” said Gib- 
bie, coming in for a look at her. “Are ye a’ 
richt? A wee drap wine an’ water? There’s 
time. They’re no past the hill-tap, for I’ve set 
Jamie to watch.” 

“ Oh, I don’t want anything. Really, Gib- 
bie.” 

“ Maybe a bit mair wood upo’ the fire ? He’s 
steekit ye plenty, I see,” glancing at the neatly 
stacked logs within the grate. 

“ But don’t extinguish the blaze,” cried Lady 
Margaret, anxiously. She was always great in 
her fires, liking them clear and lively ; they 
made, she said, the room look “ companionable”; 
a dull grate had a lonely look. 

“ A’things ready aboon,” quoth Gibbie next, 
in a sort of whisper, she was too much agi- 
tated to speak plainly; “an’ Donald’s here, 


“ HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” 167 

waitin’ to help wi’ the luggage. I tell’t him 
to stan’ the gate open, an’ come into the hoose. 

She aye brings a big trunk, forbye ’Sh, 

what’s yon ? ” suddenly stiffening into an atti- 
tude of attention — while Lady Margaret also 
started upright. Gibbie’s eyes met hers, but 
neither spoke for a full half-minute. 

Then, “ Aye ; it’s them,” said the former, 
hoarsely, and she was hurrying out ; but “Oh, 
Gibbie — Gibbie, don’t go — I mean could you 
not wait here till they come ? ” Lady Margaret 
amended her first imploring cry, with a show of 
dignity, “ You may be wanted — I like to have 
you near 

Swift as lightning Gibbie was at her side. 
“Ye manna let them see that, my daw tie,” — 
but the next moment it was, “Yer leddyship 
will receive them at the door? I’ll be ahint 
ye,” lower. “ See noo, what a fine evenin’ for 
their arrival ! ” insinuated she, conducting her 
charge along. “Ye’ll say what a gran’ day it’s 
been for their journey, and the trains mun 
ha’e keepit their times,” — (Lady Margaret was 
often thus instructed in opening discourse, as 
we know) — “ an’ ye’ll hope they’re no fati- 
guit ? — an’ maybe she’ll gang to her room sae 
soon’s she’s had her tea ” — a cheering thought 
— “sae noo, this i’ yer han’,” hastily picking up 
the handkerchief which Lady Margaret in her 


LEDDY MARGET. 


1 68 

trepidation had let fall, and stepping into the 
rear, as the fly with its occupants creaked to 
the door. 

“ There is my mother waiting to welcome 
us ! ” exclaimed Sir Robert at the same 
moment. 

He was in high good humour, and even his 
wife, tired and chilly, owned the influence of a 
bright, warm, sweet - scented apartment, and 
instantaneous refreshment daintily served. 

“ Dear ! how nice it all looks ! ” she graciously 
observed, setting down her cup, and reclining 
in her chair. “ It was quite cold when we left 
Devonshire yesterday morning. We slept at 
Crewe. It was a little out of our way, but we 
wanted to see some dear people, Lord and 
Lady ” 

“We won’t bother my mother about them,” 
interrupted Sir Robert somewhat hastily. 
“ Glad to see you looking so well, ma’am ; 
better than when I was here last, I think.” 

“ It has been a mild, open winter,” said Lady 
Margaret, cheerfully. 

“ That must make a great difference to you.” 
It was her daughter-in-law who interposed, 
mindful of private orders not to sit by and look 
“ out of it”. “In hard winters you must be in 
danger of being snowed up,” further remarked 
she, by way of being pleasant. 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” 169 

“ Oh, no ; the snow never lies here,” replied 
Lady Margaret. 

“ Dear ! I thought it always lay in Scotland.” 

“ That's all Florence knows about Scotland,” 
said Sir Robert, with a little uneasy laugh. 
Already he was beginning to feel that he had 
his work cut out before him — but here, to the 
relief of all, an apparition in black silk and 
imposing cap appeared at the door. 

“ If her leddyship wad like to rest, her room 
is ready. The maids ha’e unpackit,” said 
Gibbie in her most proper accents. 

Lady Margaret looked at her visitors, but 
Sir Robert alone had his hand ready — with all 
his shortcomings, he was still in certain ways to 
the manner born. “ Ha ! Mrs. Gibson, how 
d'ye do ? No need to ask. You and your 
mistress both look as fit as possible. Florence, 
my dear, you remember Mrs. Gibson ? ” She 
inclined condescendingly. “ Now, the best 
thing you can do is to put yourself under her 
care,” continued her husband, foreseeing re- 
lease ; “ get a good rest, while I take a stroll 
outside.'' And the party broke up. 

Presently Gibbie stole back. 

“ She’s upo’ the sofy, very comfortable. May- 
be she’ll sleep. The room's fine an' warm, an’ 
I ha’e happit her feet. He’s awa’ up the road. 
Ahem ! ” 


170 LEDDY MARGET. 

“ Ahem ! ” meant “How did you get on? 
Is all going well?” 

Lady Margaret was sitting still in her chair, 
leaning her head upon her hand ; she held out 
the other as her humble friend drew near. 

“ He means to be kind, Gibbie — but” — a sigh 
— “the others were different. Gibbie, you know.” 

Gibbie’s eyelids sank ; Gibbie made a motion 
of assent ; at such moments her sympathy was 
never expressed in words. 

“ Victor would have been sitting by me, with 
his arm round his mother’s neck,” murmured 
Lady Margaret, half to herself. “ Louis would 
have laid his head upon my lap. Sometimes 
he would fall asleep like that. You remember, 
Gibbie, don’t you ? ” looking up with wistful 
eyes, “ how you once found him so ? It was 
after he met with that — disappointment. His 
trouble lay heavy on him, and he came to pour 
it out ; and when we had talked and talked, and 
there was nothing more to say, he seemed just 
to like to feel me there, and rested upon me like 
a child. I heard his breathing grow more quiet 
and regular ; and you came in, Gibbie, and 
looked at me, and motioned that he was asleep. 
I think afterwards he told you about it, did he 
not, Gibbie ? ” 

“It kind o’ relieved him to tell, my leddy,” 
apologetically. 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” IJl 

“ So it did ; so it ought. The sympathy of 
those who love us counts for much at such 
times. Dear Louis ! — my ‘ Benjamin ! 5 He has 
been at rest for twenty years — yet it seems like 
yesterday ! He had rather a troubled life, poor 
boy ; his health was never so good as that of 
the others ” 

(“This’ll no do,” thought Gibbie. For if 
Lady Margaret became entangled too deeply in 
memories of other days, she was apt to be dis- 
trait and pensive for some time thereafter, and 
it most particularly behoved her to be bright 
and keen that evening.) 

Accordingly she firmly but respectfully put 
back upon her mistress' knee the hand which still 
clasped hers, and drew up the little shawl which 
had slipped from Lady Margaret’s shoulders. 

“ There’s a time for a' things,” she said, but 
the words did not sound harsh as when written 
here. “We can talk when we’re oor lane, but 
no the day, my leddy ; no whan we’ve them wi’ 
us that are strangers to the hoose ” 

“And isn’t that strange?” said Lady Mar- 
garet, quickly. “My own son ! ” 

“ Aweel, he was aye jist — Robert.” 

Involuntarily the thought found vent ; but 
Gibbie, albeit a little red in the face, did not 
repent of her indiscretion when she saw what it 
did for Robert’s mother. 


172 


LEDDY MARGET. 


A gleam replaced the sadness in Lady Mar- 
garet’s eyes — a gleam of honest, genuine amuse- 
ment. “ He was aye jist — Robert,” she was 
saying to herself, and all the exhortations in the 
world would not have enabled her to throw off 
her musing fit with its vein of melancholy, as 
did the little lapse of decorum. 

Throughout the evening, while playing the 
hostess, and keeping up the flow of conversa- 
tion, which was also anxiously maintained by 
Sir Robert on his part, Lady Margaret more 
than once averted a feeling of annoyance, or 
excused a tactless remark by mentally ejacu- 
lating “He was aye jist — Robert ”. 

It was because Robert was what he was that 
he kept informing her of alterations made at 
the Towers, of old landmarks swept away, of 
curtailed boundaries, and the sale of outlying 
lands. 

It was because he could not enter into her 
feelings, and had no conception of their being 
wounded, that he boldly proclaimed the refor- 
mation of divers matters which, according to 
him, had been mismanaged before his day. To 
hearken to him Alban Towers had never before 
been nobly lorded, nor its lands ably guided. 

Could he have known that the old woman 
whose skirt now and then rustled behind the 
doorway — for Gibbie presided over every dish 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” 1 73 

that went in and out of the dining-room, and 
was the most efficient and noiseless of helpers 
— could the complacent baronet, eating and 
drinking, and magnifying himself without let or 
hindrance, have guessed that it was this homely 
creature’s “He was aye jist — Robert” which 
enabled his principal auditor, for whose benefit 
mainly he discussed, to listen with equanimity, 
he would have been surprised indeed ! 

Moreover, Lady Margaret, considering that 
it was because her son was “aye jist Robert” 
that he had chosen such a person as Florence 
for his wife, extended her toleration to her 
daughter-in-law, and so deftly contrived to 
place her in her most amiable light, and keep 
her to topics wherein she showed at least in- 
offensive, that the evening passed without mis- 
adventure, and even with some show of socia- 
bility. 

Lady St. Albans had brought music, and the 
little piano had been tuned, among Gibbie’s 
other preparations. At night Gibbie was con- 
gratulated by her mistress. “It made a pleas- 
ant variety. We were quite gay in the house 
to-night. I had not recollected that we were 
to have a musician, and it was a treat to me to 
hear some of the old songs, which Sir Robert 
had kindly desired to be brought. She says it 
is an easy room to sing in, Gibbie.” 


174 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Anon it was : ‘‘They must be dear little chil- 
dren ; I have been hearing about them. Per- 
haps they are to be allowed to visit me next 
year. You must see their photographs, Gib- 
bie.” 

“ They mun be growin’ fine an’ big, my 
leddy.” Gibbie kept the talk to the children 
till she was dismissed for the night. 

But she could not control Lady Margaret’s 
thoughts, and it was a long time ere these were 
sufficiently composed to admit of sleep. “ Per- 
haps I was wrong in coming so very, very far 
away? It would have been a delight to see 
the young things in and out, and hear their 
prattle ; they would have called me ‘ Granny 5 
as the others did. But somehow, at the time, 
there seemed to be only Robert and his wife, 
and I felt I could not bear it — could not bear it. 
To be thrown entirely on their hands — to have 
them ever between me and the past — to watch 
the new life flowing on at the old home — it 
would have been nothing but pain and bitter- 
ness of spirit. My own native land, with the 
friends of my youth, and the ways of my youth, 
seemed all that was left to brighten the few 
intervening years — prolonged by my Father’s 
will, and most mercifully cheered and soothed 
by His goodness, — and I have been happier 
than I could ever have hoped to be, while 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” 175 

waiting for His summons. If only they do not 
think it unkind!” and stimulated by this last 
aspiration, Lady Margaret, to Gibbie’s surprise, 
woke the next morning full of plans and pro- 
jects, as eager as a girl to entertain her visitors, 
and devote every energy towards making their 
stay agreeable. 

“ I don’t do much in the way of society, you 
know, my dears ; but the Kelsos will be over 
this afternoon,” — and to her extreme satisfac- 
tion another carriage preceded that of the 
expected guests. 

When the colonel and Jenny came, they found 
the little room quite full ; for not only had 
Mr. and Mrs. Anstruther brought over a dis- 
tinguished guest, who was seated by the hostess, 
and at whom even her daughter-in-law cast 
deferential glances, but a smart young soldier, 
brother of the Miss Nancy Muir who has once 
before appeared in these pages, had by good 
hap chanced to walk over to the cottage to pay 
his respects, and recall the days when his 
schoolboy appetite was wont to be regaled 
there. 

“ So lucky ! ” said Lady Margaret to herself, 
with the fullest appreciation of the circum- 
stances. “ Such a fine, handsome fellow Archy 
has turned out ; and well-mannered too. And 
instead of finding only the old woman to prose 


LEDDY MARGET. 


176 

to, he drops in upon a party ! Florence will 
think we have quite a neighbourhood ” — and 
she felt as if anybody might walk in. Neither 
man nor woman would have surprised her. 

“ Upon my word, we must come here when 
w'e want to see swells.” Sir Robert having 
attended the great personage on a stroll out- 
side, and foreseen reference thereto in many a 
future conversation, was well-nigh bursting with 
pride and satisfaction, which he could only just 
contain till the last departure had taken place. 
“ Colonel Kelso is going to drive me over to 
see the famous breed of cattle at Abbeyford,” 
proceeded he. “We are to go on Thursday. 
I understand we are lunching with the Kelsos 
themselves to-morrow,” addressing his mother. 
“You are really very good in having arranged 
so much. Florence will enjoy going to the 
Kelsos’. I am sure, hum-ha — I only hope you are 
not overdoing yourself on our account, ma’am ? ” 

“ Indeed you look rather flushed,” added his 
wife, with more solicitude in her manner than 
she had yet shown. 

Secretly she had been amazed at Lady Mar- 
garet. Lady Margaret certainly had once held, 
and perhaps could still hold her own in ordinary 
society, but Florence had grown so accustomed 
to thinking of her as a rustic recluse, whose 
ideas on all subjects must now be antiquated 


“HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” 1 77 

and obsolete, that she was astonished in the 
first instance to find that people of high stand- 
ing and position, not only considered it worth 
their while to come long distances themselves 
for the pleasure of a meeting, but to bring with 
them one of the most notable men of the day — 
and secondly, that Lady Margaret, so far from 
evincing the slightest nervousness or bashful- 
ness on the occasion, was spirited and charming, 
most evidently enjoying herself, and at ease as 
to the enjoyment of others. At the close of a 
prolonged conversation, she had received a su- 
perb compliment with the grace of an empress. 

A vulgar mind is impressed by trifles like 
these ; it is safe to say that Sir Robert’s wife 
never forgot the afternoon’s experience. 

“ I really grew quite alarmed, wondering 
where it was going to end,” cried she, all smiles 
and affability. “ Such a number we seemed in 
this little room ! — And that tall young man 
blocking up the light ! He is in the Scots 
Greys, Robert. You know, Robert, it is a very 
fine regiment ” 

“ My dear Florence ! ” Sir Robert laughed. 
“ We hardly need to be told that, my dear 
girl ! ” But though in his heart he was saying, 
‘‘You betray yourself by the remark,” outwardly 
he passed to other matters without more than 

the laugh which silenced her for the moment. 

12 


73 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ A pretty girl Jenny Kelso is* turning out/’ 
said he, not wishing to talk too much of the 
subject uppermost in his thoughts — (for what 
was the prettiest girl in the land, compared with 
an inaccessible celebrity, who could now be 
quoted as having addressed him “ My dear Sir 
Robert ” ?). “ I suppose she is a bit of an 

heiress, too ? ” Presently it was, “We must 
call upon the Kelsos and Anstruthers when we 
go to Town. Their civility to you” the dutiful 
son addressed his parent, “ calls for anything 
we can do in return. I begin to think/’ con- 
tinued Sir Robert, putting back a chair in its 
place, and smoothing divers wrinkled edges 
within reach, for he must work off his excite- 
ment somehow — “ I fancy you knew what you 
were about when you elected to settle here, 
ma’am. A neighbourhood like this does not 
chop and change as ours do in the South. You 
have the good old families living on in their 
own houses from generation to generation. To 
be sure, we Derringers were unfortunate — but 
our race was an exception to the rule. We 
lived on our lands till there were none left to 
live — that is to say, none that could inherit.” 

Lady Margaret looked at him sadly, but he 
saw nothing. How could he be expected to see 
that the kindred who had died before he could 
remember were still the father and brothers of 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” 179 

her youth, and to her vision as clearly visible 
and audible as the dead of later years ? 

“ So that you have the best of everything 
there is to have in the way of society ; and if 
you can't go to them, they come to you — which 
is being at the best end of the stick,” he con- 
cluded, still radiant from reflected glory. 

“ I have certainly good neighbours,” said 
Lady Margaret, calmly. 

But she told Gibbie all about it afterwards, 
with a good deal of quiet elation. 

“ He was the little stout gentleman in grey. 
You saw Sir Robert showing him about.” 
(Well did she know Gibbie would be peeping 
from a window.) “ Even Colonel Kelso was 
gratified to meet him, for the Anstruthers are 
not taking him to Lochmadden. He is only 
here for this one day, and they chose to bring 
him to me? said Lady Margaret, gaily. “ What 
do you think of that, Mrs. Gibson ? The little 
cottage was very highly honoured this after- 
noon.” 

“ 'Deed an’ it was, yer leddyship. We was 
tellin' ilk ither that a’ the country-side was here 
the day.” 

“ Gibbie does not quite understand,” said 
Lady Margaret, to herself. But for herself she 
was quite aware that the whole of the week, 
which had opened with so dubious a forecast, 


l8o LEDDY MARGET. 

was tinted by the rays cast by the fortunate in- 
cident. Sir Robert was by many degrees more 
deferential, and his wife more assiduous than 
they would otherwise have been. 

There were no attempts to put her on the 
shelf, no manifestations of surprise at her in- 
terest in current topics and knowledge of cur- 
rent affairs — such as had secretly disturbed and 
a little affronted her at the first. She was no 
longer supposed to be living entirely out of the 
world. 

Lady St. Albans grew more talkative and 
communicative. From being languidly inter- 
ested on Lady Margaret's account alone, in 
Colonel Kelso and his daughter, she discussed 
them and their concerns with genuine avidity ; 
while so great was her desire to prosecute her 
acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Anstruther, to 
whose house there had been no previous idea of 
going, that a fly had to be hired and an expedi- 
tion made, not a little to the secret diversion of 
our old friend. 

“ You led me to think she was surrounded by 
a set of low people, Robert,” cried Florence 
when alone. “ I supposed we were to come 
and rescue her, and keep her from forgetting 
they were not the people she ought to associate 
with.” 

“ Ton my word, I thought so myself,” said he. 


“HE WAS AYE JIST— ROBERT.” l8l 

“ Even the old clergyman and his wife are all 
right.” 

“ A very decent old couple.” 

“ Then what in the world, my dear, did you 
mean ? You came back in November, making 
quite a fuss. You fired off such a tirade about 
old age getting betwaddled, and I don’t know 
what all, that I expected to find your mother 
sitting in her chair all day with her knitting 
needles, letting them do as they chose with her 

property, and taking no notice of anything ” 

“My dear Florence, I can only say that I 
am as much nonplussed as you. I certainly 
did think my mother older and feebler when I 
saw her last than I do now. It was bad 
weather, and she did not leave the house ; and 
then — ha! I have it ! ” suddenly. “ By George, 
I had quite forgotten ‘ A. P.\” 

“ And pray who may ‘A. P.’ be ? ” 

He told her the story. 

“And that was all?” quoth she, coldly. 

“ You saw a cartload of poor people ” 

“ They were not ‘ poor people 
“ At any rate, you only know that they came 
to see her, and went away because you were 
there — and that one of them left a grateful 
card.” 

“ Humph ! It was a very grateful card.” 

He was not, however, anxious to press the 


182 


LEDDY MARGET. 


case, being himself disposed to think he had 
made too much of it. “ A. P.,” whoever he might 
be, obviously could not have pillaged to any 
great extent. Lady Margaret still kept up a 
suitable establishment, and brisk intercourse 
with friends of her own rank ; also she was still 
perfectly qualified to manage her own affairs, 
and the advice and guidance which he had medi- 
tated tendering, was plainly superfluous. He 
had only the dutiful anxiety of a son to fall back 
upon. 

And since the whole week had passed with- 
out any diminution of his wife’s good spirits, 
and could be looked back upon by her with 
more complacency than had ever fallen to the 
lot of a visit to Lady Margaret before, she would 
not mar the effect by irritating insinuations. 
Her husband must learn to forget that dreadful 
“you ” which had stung her to the quick when 
she was contrasted with Lady Margaret. As 
for her comparison of Lady Margaret’s cottage 
to one of the lodges at Alban Towers, she could 
only be devoutly thankful that no one but Robert 
had heard it. 

All wound up with thus : the children should 
certainly pay their grandmother a visit in the 
summer — all hesitation on that subject was at 
an end. 

Sad to tell, however, the visit never came 


“HE WAS AYE JIST — ROBERT.” 1 83 

off — although it is due to Lady St. Albans to 
say this was through no fault of hers. 

It was a childish complaint which broke out 
at the Towers, and put an end to the Scotch 
expedition, which was, however, understood to 
be merely deferred. “ They shall certainly go 
next year,” their mother wrote : and Lady Mar- 
garet, albeit disappointed, said also confidently 
and cheerily “ next year”. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 

An uneventful summer and winter passed ; 
neighbours went and came, and Lady Mar- 
garet pursued the quiet tenor of her life at 
the cottage among the sandhills. 

She had hoped that April would as usual see 
her especial friends re-installed at Lochmadden 
House, but to her disappointment she received 
a letter from Colonel Kelso, saying that Jenny 
was to be presented at Court, and have a few 
weeks of the London season afterwards. 

Lady Margaret would not grumble ; she had 
herself advocated something of the kind, forget- 
ful or unmindful of the deprivation to herself 
which must ensue ; and she now resolutely 
repressed a sigh. 

She had noted in Jenny a tendency, slight 
but perceptihle to the experienced eye, to- 
wards that self-importance which is the bane of 
country-bred young ladies of position. Jenny, 
wherever she visited among the few houses 
which formed her own neighbourhood, must 
be first in consequence — and she rarely went 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 1 85 

beyond it. She had learnt to think a little too 
highly of herself, not as herself, but as Colonel 
Kelso’s daughter. 

“If you have an opportunity of taking Jenny 
about a little more — letting her see the world, 
and find it does not all run in one groove — 
would it not be well to embrace it, Charles ? ” 

“ You find my little girl — ah — provincial, 
Lady Margaret ? ” 

“ I do not see how any one can help being 
provincial who is never taken out of the pro- 
vinces. We all need to rub shoulders with men 
and women where they exhibit themselves in 
more plentiful variety — where nations congre- 
gate. It does not do to begin life as I am 
ending it. Jenny is charming, natural, frank, 
unsophisticated. We all love her, and every 
girl she knows adores her. She is superior to 
them, and they acknowledge it. Let her go 
where she is not superior ; let her find her own 
level. Besides which, Charles, your daughter 
must not be rustic in her manners any more 
than in her mind. Delightful as her simpli- 
city is now, in a few years we shall look for 
the polished address, the graceful knowledge 
of what is every one’s due, the adroitness at 
smoothing over an awkward moment — all the 
quickness of perception and promptness in action 
which marks the accomplished gentlewoman.” 


LEDDY MARGET. 


1 86 

Lady Margaret paused for an instant, then, 
“ And which makes Colonel Kelso the accom- 
plished gentleman,” added she, smiling. 

That very night Colonel Kelso decided on 
his course of action. 

“ Do not say anything to her” he however 
confided to his daughter, “ it would make her 
winter long if she knew not to expect us till 
J une ; and it will be time enough to tell her 
that her advice has been followed, and you are 
to be shaken up a bit among the fine folks of 
London, when we are established there.” 

“ I don’t quite know what we are going for,” 
protested Jenny, only half-pleased with the 
idea. “We shan’t know many people in Lon- 
don, and I don’t see what good it is going to do 
us.” 

“ Lady Margaret thinks you rustic,” said he 
with a little comical twist of his mouth. “That’s 
the fact, make what you can of it.” 

He had expected an outcry, but none came. 
Then he saw that he himself had inculcated too 
deep a reverence for Lady Margaret’s opinion 
to permit of her censure being lightly heard or 
protested against. 

J enny had merely blushed scarlet. Rustic ? 
She would sooner have been called anything 
else upon earth by other lips. Not a single 
word against the proposed extension of their 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 1 87 

absence did her father hear from her thence- 
forth. 

And at last June came, and Lady Margaret 
had no longer to pay her own penalty for having 
had her word in season followed. 

“So, so? All very fine, my dear. You 
really had to stay another week ? And dear 
Lochmadden, that looks so beautiful in the 
month of May, could not tempt you away from 
the vast, roaring, seething metropolis? Oh, 
J enny, J enny ! I thought how it would be ! 
I know what it is like — the glamour of it — the 
gloss and glitter of it.” 

“ But, dear Lady Margaret, it was you who 
put it into papa’s head ” 

“ So I did, child ; so I did. And sometimes 
I have wondered since whether I might not as 
well have held my tongue. But ignorance is 
not innocence, Jenny. There is such a thing as 
being in the world and not of it ; and it seemed 
to me my little girl ran more danger from 
rustling in state in her own little comfortable 
circle down here, than from finding out the 
sharp corners of the world. Dear girl, you 
have been brought up in the fear of God, and 
to go abroad well armed in that armour is 
better for every human being than to shrink 
from every untoward influence.” 

“Yes, Lady Margaret,” said Jenny, respect- 


1 88 


LEDDY MARGET. 


fully. She was not listening, however ; for 
once her old friend’s wisdom had failed to hit 
the mark. 

To tell the truth, Lady Margaret’s young 
visitor was brooding over something as to 
which she could not make up her mind whether 
Lady Margaret should be told or not. In some 
ways the London experiment had been a fail- 
ure ; it had been robbed of its value from the 
point of view adopted by its special advocate, 
through an unforeseen circumstance. Jenny’s 
mind and manners had not expanded beneath 
a flood of new experiences, joyful and pain- 
ful by turns : her eyes had not been opened 
to perceive that however great a personage 
Miss Kelso of Lochmadden might be in her 
own neighbourhood, even in her own county, 
elsewhere she was a mere unit amongst others 
whose claims equalled or excelled her own ; 
she had not felt alternately stimulated and 
crushed, enlightened and humbled ; — in a word, 
to all appearance she was the same Jenny 
as when she went ; and now that the first 
joyfulness of re-union had effervesced, seemed 
even a little, a very little less attentive and de- 
monstrative than of yore. 

When she was gone, and not till then, Lady 
Margaret found this out ; for a short time she 
felt puzzled and disappointed ; then a ray of 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 1 89 

light dawned upon her vision. “ Oho ? ” said 
she to herself. 

But she would not force any one’s confidence ; 
if she were not to be told anything, she would 
not appear to suspect anything ; if Colonel 
Kelso chose to be as reticent as his daughter 
concerning the London episode, she would not 
seek to penetrate his reserve ; and when it was 
only too palpable that things were not as 
smooth between the two as of old — when the 
colonel would be short with Jenny, and Jenny 
flushed and sullen in response — Lady Margaret 
would calmly talk on, looking neither at one 
nor the other, to all appearance absolutely un- 
conscious of allusions or double-meanings which 
were not for her. 

But at length came the day and the hour 
anticipated. 

“ Lady Margaret ? ” 

“ Jenny ? ” 

“You were once a girl like me, and if you 
don’t mind, if you won’t think it a liberty and 
all that, I do so want to talk to you as if you 
were a girl still.” 

“I am a girl still, in the way you mean,” 
Lady Margaret smiled with quick apprehension. 
“ I have been waiting for this, Jenny ; and I 
am just dying to hear all about it. You came 
over to-day on purpose ; I thought you would, 


190 


LEDDY MARGET. 


one of these days. Now begin at the very 
beginning. Who is he ? Where did you first 
meet him ? And ” 

“ Lady Margaret l” Jenny, who was sitting 
on a stool by the fire with her arm across Lady 
Margaret’s lap, and her cheek resting on her 
old friend’s knee, looked up in amazement. 

“ And what has your father against him ? ” 
proceeded the latter, coolly. 

“ He — has papa been telling you? And,” 
indignantly, “he promised me he wouldn’t.” 

Lady Margaret shook her head. “Not a 
word, any more than you. You have been a 
couple of most secretive people. So unkind 
too, when you must have known I was long- 
ing to hear ; ” and she shook her head with a 
plaintiveness that would have melted stone. 

“But whatever made you guess?” Jenny 
hitched the stool nearer, and both arms went 
out across the knee. 

“We girls guess all these things.” Lady 
Margaret pulled a lock of hair slily. “ Get on, 
Jenny. Never mind what little feathers showed 
which way the wind blew. They were feathers 
no one else saw, I daresay. At any rate no 
one told me ” 

“ Oh, no one could, except papa. He made 
me promise not to tell the other girls, if he said 
nothing to you. He wanted me to speak to 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. I9I 

you myself — but I was afraid. You see I 
believe papa thinks you would take his part — 
and — and ” 

“ And Jenny does not feel quite sure that I 
won’t ? ” 

“ Still I want to tell you, Lady Margaret.” 

“ Go on ; what’s his name ? ” said Lady Mar- 
garet. She made no protestations ; she did not 
even call Jenny “ my dear” ; she simply looked 
all impatience for the love tale. Could there 
be a more delightful auditor ? 

“ His name? But hadn’t I better tell you 
where we first met? It was at Lady Bar- 
combe’s Easter party. Barcombe Abbey is 
such a lovely place ; and we went there for 
Easter ; and you know what an Easter it was, 
like midsummer. As Lady Barcombe was to 
present me directly after, she said I had better 
come down and get to know the other girl she 
was taking, her niece ; and she would make up 
a nice party for us both, of the people we were 
likely to meet during the season. She was 
awfully kind ; and had a lot of men she thought 
would do for partners and be useful — and — 

and ” 

“ Now for the name, Jenny.” 

“ He — Eustace Dagnam — was not there when 
we arrived ; he came afterwards. He is Lady 
Barcombe’s cousin, and she laughed about him 


192 


LEDDY MARGET. 


before he came, and warned us he was quite 
impecunious, and that sailors were always falling 
in love.” 

“ Sailors! Eustace Dagnam ? 1 knew a 

Eustace Dagnam once, a naval lieutenant ” 

“His father’s name is George ” 

“It would not be his father, but his grand- 
father,” Lady Margaret smiled gently ; “ if my 
Eustace turns out to have been any relation of 
yours. He was older than I — some years 
older. He came to Derringer — let me see — 
when Nigel came back from the Mediterranean, 
he brought this fine handsome Lieutenant Dag- 
nam with him. I was only seventeen, and I 
thought — possibly what you think now, Jenny.” 

“ Were you ? Did you ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; it never went very far ; still, it 
would be curious if — have your Dagnams any- 
thing to do with Hampshire?” 

“ Why, of course ; they live there now, the 
older branch of the family does, at least. Oh, 
that is strange ; you must tell papa ; perhaps if 

you were to tell papa ” 

“Ah, but I have not heard papa’s side of the 
question.” 

“ Oh, Lady Margaret, he has nothing against 
Eustace — nothing. He said himself that he 
was a fine fellow ; and until he found that we 
were — were beginning to — to ” 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 193 

“ I know.” 

“It is only that he is so poor, and all his 
people are poor. His father is only a third son, 
and Eustace is his third son. And there are 
such a lot of them. And of course they have 
to live in a very small way — and can’t afford 
things — and the boys have to be educated at 
Bedford, because it is a cheap school — and — 
and — papa says the whole thing is squalid ,” 
suddenly the torrent froze up, and down went 
the brown head upon Lady Margaret’s knee. 

For a few minutes Lady Margaret stroked it, 
saying nothing. 

“ Do say what you think, Lady Margaret,” a 
smothered voice uprose presently. “ Just what 
you think.” 

“Then, Jenny, I think,” slowly, “that if the 
man were worth it, I should not care even 
though his surroundings were 4 squalid ’.” 

“ Do you — oh ! ” 

“ Mind, ‘ if the man were worth it/ ” repeated 
Lady Margaret, with emphasis. 

“He is worth it; he is indeed,” and Jenny 
poured forth anew ; and anew there fell a silence 
between them. 

“ I see you think papa has something on his 
side,” murmured the girl, at last. 

“ A good deal on his side. For one thing, 

how came so young a man ” 

13 


i 9 4 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ Not so young. He is nearly thirty.” 

Lady Margaret smiled. How strange it 
sounded ! Fifty years behind her, and “ not so 
young ! ” “ At any rate, only a second-lieu- 

tenant, and with nothing but his pay. I think, 
Jenny, it was hardly right or fair in him to come 
forward for your hand.” 

“ He did not do that — he did not indeed. 
It was only because he was going away — to 
join the Chinese fleet, he is there now— and it 
was our last evening, and we were at a great 
London crush ; Lady Barcombe had got him 
the invitation — she always did — oh, I see you 
think she should not ? But she was so 
kind ” 

“To you, perhaps, and to him. I can un- 
derstand Lady Barcombe’s view of the subject 
very well,” said Lady Margaret, straightening 
her back, “and your father has a good right to 
be annoyed with her, as you say he is. A 
penniless relation and a rich only daughter — 
but we need not discuss that. It is cruel to 
this poor little girl. Did your father — does he 
think — Jenny, answer me truly — I may be able 
to help you, and I will if I can — does he con- 
sider Eustace Dagnam himself disinterested ? ” 

“ Disinterested ! ” 

“No need to flare up, little firebrand. It is 
not what you think, but what your father does.” 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. 195 

“ He says/’ reluctantly, “that such a thing 
ought never to have been thought of — that 
Eustace should not have allowed himself to fall 
in love ” 

“ Still he c&lls it falling in love ? ” 

“Yes — yes. Ask him yourself, Lady Mar- 
garet. And when we told him about that 
evening, he was quite kind, and held out his 
hand to Eustace and said, ‘ I don't blame you, 
my poor fellow, for betraying yourself in an 
unguarded moment ’ — you see all Eustace 
wanted was for me to know that he really 
cared, not to suppose he had been flirting (be- 
cause something happened which led to his 
being afraid I might think that), — and he never 
asked me if I cared — never once ; — and he 

was going away without knowing ” 

“ But he didn't ? ” 

Jenny smiled back. 

“Well now, I think I understand the case,” 
said Lady Margaret at length, the above having 
been repeated and discussed with variations ad 
libitum , “ and we will see what can be done. 

He is off for two years ” 

“Two whole years ! ” A sigh. 

“Jenny — honestly — do you think he and you 
will stand the test of two years' waiting ? ” 

“ Lady Margaret ” a long pause. “ Yes,” 

said Jenny simply. 


196 


LEDDY MARGET. 


It was the colonel’s turn next. 

“ I am very glad she has confided in you, my 
dear friend. And though I daresay it was not 
quite — one can’t expect a hot-headed lassie to 
put the matter quite straight — still, I think, all 
things considered, Jenny has not done amiss. 
I blame Lady Barcombe ” 

“ So do I — in a measure. She ought at 
least to have ascertained that you would not be 
antagonistic. The thing is done, however ; 
and now I understand from you both that were 
all else equal, you would have no objection to 
the young man for Jenny’s husband?” 

“ But things are not equal. And blame me 
if you will, Lady Margaret, I look higher for 
my daughter than a penniless sea captain — say 
he ever gets to be a captain.” 

“ Pride, Charles.” 

“ Pride, if you will. It is the truth. A man 
may be all a parent could wish, but if he cannot 
offer a suitable home to his wife — why, she 
would be a sort of widow half the time, and 
perhaps a dozen children to bring up all by 
herself ” 

“At Lochmadden House.” 

“ That’s the idea ? I don’t say it has not 

something to recommend it. Still ” and 

he made a restive movement. 

“For Jenny’s dignity it would perhaps be 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. I97 

more desirable that she should have a house of 
her own where her father could visit her ; for 
her happiness — I don’t know. For her father’s 
happiness ” 

“ My happiness is not to be considered. I 
trust I am not selfish.” 

After a time it was : “I should like to hear 
unreservedly how you look upon the affair. I 
think I may say I will be guided by you. I 
am sick of going on as we do, with this con- 
stant cloud between us. If you can give me 
back my little Jenny, the Jenny you found fault 
with before this unlucky expedition ” 

“ Ah, Charles,” Lady Margaret shook her 
head, gently. “ Many and many a father has 
sighed that sigh before you. It is a bitter 
moment when we first discover that the parent’s 
love no longer suffices. We cry, ‘ Give me 
back the child ’ — but the child no longer exists. 
What then? You would not have the bud 
never blossom? You would not have it remain 
‘ bound,’ gradually to wither and fade, without 
ever expanding in maturity ? Be brave, dear 
friend, and accept the Divine order of things. 
You loved, / loved ; must Jenny only go with- 
out the crowning glory of life in man or 
woman ? ” 

When Colonel Kelso left, he felt as though 
his heart were as very wax. “ I was afraid of 


198 


LEDDY MARGET. 


her all along,” he muttered. “ The worst of it 
is, she is so reasonable ; sees so clearly all there 
is against it ; does not pretend it is a good 
match, or what I might have looked for ; and 
yet, — anyhow, there is two years’ grace,” he 
consoled himself. “ Even Lady Meg thinks 
they ought to wait two years.” 

• •••»••• 

But the two years flew by, and one fine 
morning there was an early visitor at the cot- 
tage — one not wholly unexpected neither. For 
Jenny’s dear, kind, wonderful Lady Margaret, 
who had brought round papa as no one else in 
the world could have done, had been kept duly 
informed of certain communications which could 
only have one result ; so now her, “ Oh, Lady 
Margaret, he’s coming ! ” needed no interpreta- 
tion. 

“ To-night,” continued Jenny, with starry 
eyes. “ Only think! This very night! He 
landed this morning, and had just time to send 
a telegram before the train started. Would — 
would you like to see the telegram ? ” She was 
blushing, panting, glowing all over ; but it was 
the old hand, not the young, which trembled as 
the pink envelope passed between them. 

Jenny saw. “ I startled you ; I am so sorry.” 

“ Sorry ? Sorry for anything when you 
have this?” A little tremulous cry, then a 


THE LONDON VISIT AND ITS RESULT. I99 

break in the voice. “Some day, my child — 
some day, perhaps, in the far, far future, you 
will look on this bit of paper as I do — on one of 
its kind.” A long breath, Lady Margaret’s eyes 
upon the telegram, seeing something else than 
it meanwhile. 

Then Jenny. “ I know I shall. I do now. 
That is, I mean— I mean — oh, Lady Margaret, 
you know, you understand. I have been taking 
it out, ever since it came — to look, to see, to be 
sure of the exactest moment it was sent, and was 
received, and all. And I feel just as if he had 
written it himself with his own hand ; I keep 
forgetting that it is only the stupid girl at our 
telegraph office who sends up all the stupid 
telegrams ” 

“ Who had the audacity to meddle with this 
one ? But bear up, Jenny ; at any rate, the life, 
the soul, the very being in the words is ‘ his,’ 
and ‘ he ’ will be here to-night ! ” Again the 
old voice faltered and fell. “ To-night,” whis- 
pered Lady Margaret, as though to herself ; and 
Jenny, looking at her, saw that her hands were 
clasped, and that before the dim eyes was 
spread a vision — a “To-night” of years and 
years ago. 


200 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“A MERE NOTHING— BUT NO VISITORS.” 

“ I suppose we all go over to the cottage this 
afternoon ? ” said Colonel Kelso, jovially. 

He was now able to be jovial ; he had 
swallowed his pill, and found that, like many 
another of its kind, if bitter in the mouth it 
sat easily upon the stomach. Eustace Dagnam 
might be a poor match for a pretty heiress, but 
if looks and words were to be trusted, he would 
prove a rarely good husband for a much-beloved 
daughter. He had a straight eye, an honest 
brow, and a right pleasant voice and smile. 
Furthermore, he came of a good stock, and had 
already made his mark in his profession. Long 
ago the colonel had regretted using a certain 
opprobrious term in connection with the young 
man’s immediatesurroundings,and now it needed 
only Dagnam’s earnest and instant acquiescence 
in his view of adopting a son in place of losing 
a daughter, to enable him to forget comfortably 
all that it was not desirable to remember. 

Accordingly he was eager to let Lady Mar- 
garet see how well he was behaving, and made 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 201 

the proposition above recorded with all the con- 
fidence in the world. 

But “Oh!” said Jenny, looking a little 
blank. For it was the day after her gallant 
sailors arrival, and another way of spending it 
had been planned. Let lovers sympathise. 

“Not?” exclaimed her father — (fathers are 
dull beings) — “why, I thought — I made sure 
you would wish to go. She will certainly be 
expecting us ; and considering all things,” his 
eye pointing a meaning sufficiently audible to 
the ear, “considering what Lady Margaret ” 

“Oh, yes, papa — yes.” Jenny, to tell the 
truth, had somewhat slurred over the beneficent 
intervention of her old friend, and let it appear 
(but artlessly and with intentions all for the 
best) that her dear papa had of his own unaided 
self come to see things in a different light, when 
calmly reviewing what had transpired in the 
fevered atmosphere of London, within the peace- 
ful seclusion of his Scottish home. 

Without in her own heart detracting one 
iota from the value of Lady Margaret as a 
powerful, almost omnipotent ally, she had — 
well, well, Lady Margaret would only have 
laughed had she known, and very likely said 
that Jenny was right, and that all she had done 
was to make Charles Kelso think a little faster 
than he would have thought by himself. 


202 


LEDDY MARGET. 


There was but one conclusion to which he 
could have come, with or without her. 

Not so, however, thought the colonel; he 
was now feeling somewhat disturbed, owning 
a debt of gratitude which must be paid off ; 
and accordingly he looked askance at a new- 
comer to whom suspicion might attach — but a 
second glance dispelled the suspicion. 

No, there was no collusion ; no passing of 
glances between Eustace Dagnam’s blue eyes 
and other eyes — while as for the sailor s “ I am 
ready, sir, to go wherever you wish, and do 
whatever you wish,” it sounded as if, reflected 
Colonel Kelso afterwards, “ I only needed to 
order him to take a header from the topmost 
point of the mast, to see him flash past ! ” 

What paternally -knit brow could fail to 
smooth beneath such prompt devotion ? Our 
old colonel had found — and possibly at that 
moment recognised the discovery — the very 
son-in-law for whom his soul craved. 

“All right, then,” said he, good-humouredly. 
“Jenny, you are an ungrateful puss; and I 
hope some one else will make you behave 
better than I can ; ” but some one else, looking 
very respectfully and a shade timidly upon the 
beetling brows and square-cut chin of the re- 
solute old martinet, inwardly decided that the 
task which had baffled him was likely to prove 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 203 

too tough for any other man. (Miss Jenny 
meanwhile sitting demurely by, keeps her own 
counsel, and is privately very sure that she can 
manage the two of them with one hand — not to 
say its little finger) 

We thus see that things were in a fair way 
to work smoothly at Lochmadden House, and 
with minds at rest can follow the little party 
trotting over hill and dale that same afternoon 
to pay their visit of ceremony at Lady Mar- 
garet’s cottage. 

“ He is certainly a fine-looking fellow,” quoth 
the colonel to himself, as he took a peep over 
his shoulder every now and then, pointing out 
this and that to his guest; “uncommonly well 
those rough tweeds become him too ! A fine 
healthy animal, with a skin like sunburnt satin ! 
’Pon my word, ’tis a comfort now-a-days to be 
able to present a future son-in-law without 
having to back him up with an apology. ‘ Not 
much to look at, but so many hundred thousands 
in railways’ — or, ‘Hasn’t an “ H,” but runs a 
mine’ — that’s the sort of thing Vernon and Mark- 
ham had to go about saying. Anyway I am 
spared that . I say, ‘ Here he is ; look at him ; 
speak to him; judge for yourselves’. If he 
can’t plank down the dibs, that’s my affair. 
Lady Meg will simply lose her head altogether,” 
he concluded with an extra complacent flick of 


204 


LEDDY MARGET. 


the whip, as the cobs turned down the familiar 
incline, and were brought up in style at Lady 
Margaret’s door. 

No one was about, a sure token to Colonel 
Kelso’s mind that he had been right in sur- 
mising the visit was not unlooked for. “ Of 
course she’d expect us,” he muttered to him- 
self, pleased with his own perspicuity ; where- 
fore, instead of casting his eyes hither and 
thither in quest of any old spae-wife apparition, 
he sat upright and square upon the box-seat, 
having drawn up with an impressive flourish, 
and inwardly calculated that probably his old 
friend — elaborately prepared by Gibbie — was at 
the same moment scanning at her leisure Eus- 
tace Dagnam’s handsome profile, if she were 
seated as was her wont, in her own arm-chair 
commanding the window. 

“ Let her have a good look at him before he 
goes in ! ” chuckled the colonel. “ He’ll bear 
looking at. And an honest face is none the 
worse for being seen unawares. Let her look, 
say I. Ho, Katie, is Lady Margaret — Ha, 
Mrs. Gibson ! ” — (Gibbie was already in the 
doorway) — “are we to — what's the matter ?” 
demanded the speaker with a sudden lifting 
of the voice. “ Eh ? What d’ye say ? Lady 
Margaret? Is anything the matter with Lady 
Margaret ? ” 


“A MERE NOTHING— BUT NO VISITORS.” 205 

“ No jist the maitter, Cornell. Her leddy- 
ship — she was expeckin’ ye ower ” 

“Of course. I told Miss Jenny so. I knew 
she would expect us.” 

“ An' mickle she’s talked aboot it ” 

“Ay, ay. Here we are, you see.” 

“ An’ sair she focht wi’ me to get doon- 
stairs ” 

“ She’s not downstairs then ? ” 

“No jist doonstairs. But ye’ll step in, Miss 
Jenny? Though ’deed the doctor did sae nae 
veesitors ” 

The poor old woman — an agony was written 
on her brow! To have to say such a thing! 
And to such visitors ! And before him, the 
young gentleman — the young gentleman ! — 
brought over in state! — brought, as befitting, 
on the very first day after his arrival ! It was 
terrible ; it was unbearable ! 

There she stood with shaking knees, and 
trembling hands smoothing down the fronts 
of her black silk ; and could she have said 
anything else, invented any lie, however trans- 
parent, she would have done so, — but none 
would have served her purpose, and all per- 
ceived how matters stood. 

Had Lady Margaret been really ill, Gibbie 
told herself, she would not have heeded how 
she barred the door, nor upon whom — but who 


20 6 


LEDDY MARGET. 


talked of illness ? Dr. M‘Ewan pooh-poohed 
the idea of such a thing. 

He had been summoned that morning some- 
what hurriedly — (Gibbie had swallowed in her 
throat as she gave Donald the order, and 
Mysie and Katie had been rated for idle, use- 
less hussies, because they listened and looked 
at one another as she did so) — but the doctor, 
when he came, made light of their anxiety. 

It was a mere nothing at which they had 
taken fright. Their mistress had been a little 
over-excited or over-heated ; he would send 
over something to quiet her down. Meantime 
bed, and no visitors. 

And this to happen on what should have 
been a great day in Lady Margaret’s life ! 

Gibbie in due time had been taken into con- 
fidence regarding Miss Jenny’s affairs (she had 
had her own suspicions long before), and proud 
she was of all the goings and comings, the long 
conferences held separately with father and 
daughter, the messengers with despatches 
which had to be replied to were the answer 
never so long in being ready. All the new 
importance which had supervened upon the 
old deference was thirstily absorbed, and its 
dew made her well-worn countenance glisten at 
the bare mention of Lochmadden House. 

Then when all had been formally announced, 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 207 

how ably had she wielded the new weapon that 
was to keep the wilful Leddy Marget from out- 
breaks — the, “Ye maun keep weel for Miss 
Jenny’s weddinV’ which actually did have more 
restraining influence than any other reminder of 
its kind ever had before. 

Many a night did Gibbie lie awake, plan- 
ning how her mistress was to be set out for the 
occasion ; how she was to be spared fatigue ; 
withdrawn from lesser moments ; produced in 
triumph at the crowning ones. It was under- 
stood that once the young lieutenant were re- 
turned from foreign service, there would be no 
delay in the marriage taking place, since the 
colonel himself had declared the young people 
ought to get all the good of each other they 
could ere the next inevitable separation. The 
summer then would hardly be over ere the 
great event came off ; and that would suit Lady 
Margaret finely, reflected Lady Margarets 
faithful custodian. 

That her ladyship would be a central figure 
on the occasion did not admit of doubt ; and 
Gibbie’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure 
when informed that she and her mistress were 
to be located in the house, with the very best 
rooms assigned to them, several days before the 
other guests should arrive. 

“ For you see you are going to be my 


208 


LEDDY MARGET. 


mother;” Jenny had fondled her old friend’s 
hand. 

It was too bad of Jenny to want to go off 
alone with her Eustace, instead of bringing him 
straight to the cottage at a subsequent period — 
but we have all been young once ; and Gibbie 
never knew; and Jenny herself forgot, and 
would have been indignant had she ever been 
reminded of the momentary remissness. 

At the commencement of this blissful period, 
Gibbie had, however, had a worry. She durst 
not broach the subject of a new dress and 
bonnet, not feeling quite sure how Lady Mar- 
garet would take it. Lady Margaret had spent 
a good deal of late ; the purchase of Mr. Proud- 
foot’s house had somewhat crippled her re- 
sources for the time, and there had been later 
expenses besides ; how if her ladyship were 
now to say she could not afford finery ? On 
the one subject of her worldly affairs she was 
reticent. 

And it seemed to Gibbie that Lady Margaret 
had given no thought to the matter — what was 
to be done ? In sheer desperation she essayed 
a hint at last ; and then, oh wonderful ! found 
that her apparently negligent ladyship had never 
contemplated anything less than the orthodox 
splendour due to so august an occasion. 

“ Of course I shall pay the bride that com- 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 20g 

pliment,” said Lady Margaret, placidly. 
“ Directly the day is fixed, Gibbie, which will 
be as soon as the young man arrives — and you 
know he is expected to-night — we must send 
for patterns. I wish I could have employed 
my own old dressmaker, for I fear good little 
Miss Macalister will hardly put me in the latest 
fashion.” 

(“The latest fashion!” Gibbie’s breath 
grew short, and her eyes turned up in a sort of 
ecstasy.) 

“ But I hardly think I could go to London 
myself, nor send so far for a fitter to come 
down,” proceeded Lady Margaret, considering 
the point, “ so I must be content, and you, Mrs. 
Gibson, must be content with a good, rich silk, 
and let Miss Macalister do her best.” 

“An* ’deed she mak’s for mony o’ them 
roon’,” cried Gibbie, eagerly ; “ an’ wi’ a weddin 
to mak’ for, she’ll gang to Glasgow or maybe 
to E’nburgh ; an’ yer leddyship aye likes them 
plain ” 

But Lady Margaret turned upon her sharply. 
“Plain? Not at all. Not on this occasion. 
Certainly not plain. Miss Macalister must not 
start with that idea. The colonel would think 
it a very poor return for all his friendship if he 
had to introduce a shabby old creature at the 
wedding of his only daughter; and Jenny will 

14 


210 


LEDDY MARGET. 


have the bridegroom’s relations to think of too. 
When the feelings of those we love are in 
question, we ought to grudge neither trouble 
nor money on our appearance.” 

(“Neither trouble nor money!” Gibbie 
lifted up her eyes anew, in thanksgiving too 
deep for words.) 

“ So pray let there be no plainness this time,” 
proceeded Lady Margaret, with a little testy 
recollection of the old tussle over the low-necked 
dress. “ I should wish to be dressed as if 
it were for the marriage of one of my own 
daughters — understand, one of my own daugh- 
ters. You know how that ought to be, Gibbie 
— how it was in times past. Let me look like 
that again — as like as can be,” she corrected 
herself, with a momentary sigh. Then more 
briskly, “ Think over what I shall want, and let 
us send out our orders in good time ! ” It was 
long since any command had sounded so 
musical in Gibbie’s ears. 

And presently there had been a gentle recall 
as the old servant was leaving the room. “You 
must have a new gown too, Gibbie ; we will 
send for it with mine.” 

This had happened the night before, and 
Gibbie had scarce closed an eye thereafter for 
pondering and planning. All seemed now so 
near. Immediately would Lochmadden House 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 21 1 

be plunged into the bustle of preparation, of 
which many an echo would find its way to Lady 
Margaret’s cottage ; the colonel, whose devotion 
to his old friend seemed ever on the increase, 
would look in perpetually with questions and 
suggestions ; Miss Jenny would come to tell of 
her presents and trousseau ; even the minister 
would take the opinion of his venerated par- 
ishioner anent the marriage service. And the 
very next day would see all this joyous din 
beginning ! 

Alas ! It saw the doctors gig at the door. 

“ But it is a mere nothing, I assure you, 
Mrs. Gibson. No cause for alarm ; none what- 
ever. I’ll take care of ‘ Leddy Marget ’. Why, 
I don’t know what all the folks of the country- 
side would say to me if — quite so. Long dis- 
tant may that day be, mistress! Now, all you 
have to do is to keep her ladyship where she 
is — in bed ; give her my medicines directly they 
arrive (Donald can fetch them as soon as you 
please ; I am going straight home, and will 
have them ready by the time he get’s there) — 
and I’ll look in — ahem! — to-night, and see how 
she’s getting on. But mind,” — quickly — “no 
talking — no visitors. You said something about 
visitors ? ” 

“ Cornell and Miss Kelso will likely be ower, 


sir/ 


212 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“ They must not be admitted, then. You can 
tell them as much or as little as you please ; 
but I must be obeyed — mind you, obeyed — on 
this point.” And with a peremptoriness some- 
what at variance with his easy disposal of the 
case, the worthy medico mounted his gig and 
departed. 

Gibbie looked after him with a set face. At 
another time she would have seen clearly 
through now what simply loomed an awful 
haze. But to see through it meant — she hastily 
shut her eyes. 

The colonel, however, spoke as unconcernedly 
as Dr. M‘Ewan had done. “Oh, dear me, 
this is a disappointment ! ” he cried. “ And 
your lady is never unwell, is she? To be 
tripped up to-day of all days in the year ! But 
there are many kinds of ailments flying about, 
and one seems bound to catch some of them. 
I had a little attack myself lately — was laid up 
for several days. Mind you tell your mistress 
we can’t spare her above a day or two. She 
must hurry and get well ; for here is Miss 
Jenny ” 

“ And dear Lady Margaret was looking so 
well yesterday,” struck in Jenny’s fresh piping- 
voice — J enny was all smiling and rosy. (“ ’Deed 
she luikitlike a bit flure i’ the sun ! ” reported 
Gibbie, afterwards.) “ Do give her my fondest 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 21$ 

love and say, please ” — and then she too laughed 
and looked round. 

“ Ay, to be sure ; say — you know what, 
Mrs. Gibson ; ” again it was the fathers turn. 
“ This is Mr. Dagnam,” the sailor jumped 
down and held out his hand on the instant ; 
“ you tell Lady Margaret we brought Mr. Dag- 
nam, to introduce him ; but she will have plenty 
of opportunities of making his acquaintance 
presently. So there is no need to bother with 
too many messages. Look, Dagnam, isn’t that 
a fine view ? ” proceeded the colonel, pointing 
with his whip. “ Perhaps you don’t care about 
the sight of the sea as some of us land-lubbers 
do, but to me it is always a treat to stand at 
this door. And as for the sunsets ! ” (“ Must 

give Gibbie time to take stock,” reflected he.) 
Aloud : “ Could there be a pleasanter spot ? 
So sheltered ; so sunny. If there is a bit of 
sun going, Lady Margaret catches it. But 
don’t let your mistress out till the wind changes, 
Mrs. Gibson. Ha — ha ! ” — genially — “ no need 
to tell you that. W e all know you are as good 
as a dozen doctors and nurses rolled into one. 
Well now, we had better be going ; jump up, 
Dagnam ; and better luck next time.” Keep- 
ing up his gay tone to the last, the colonel 
saluted cordially, and turned his horses. 

But the next day Gibbie, passing from the 


214 


LEDDY MARGET. 


kitchen, heard a strange noise at the back-door. 
She stood still, and her heart gave a stound. 
At the back-door ! What did this mean? At 
the same moment a stealthy figure passed the 
passage window. 

“Whae’s yon?” demanded the old woman 
in a high key. “The Cornell? The Cornell l 
An’ ye lat him gang ” and she was out her- 

self like lightning. 

“ Oh, thank you, Mrs. Gibson ; no, I don’t 
know that I’ll come in ; but perhaps I may, for 
a minute.” (“ Bother it ! I thought I had got 
off! ”) “ I — I— — ” stammered Colonel Kelso, 
confused and undone. “ I did not mean to dis- 
turb any one ; I thought you would be occupied 
upstairs — and that one of the maids could just 
tell me — hum — ha — it occurred to me to look in 
and ask how she was ? ” 

“Ye didna mean me to ken o’t, Cornell,” signi- 
ficantly. “ I understan, — an’ — an’ thank ye 
kindly. Ye was creepin’ aff — but no, sir, ye’ll 
no gang like that a second time frae oor door. 
Oh, Cornell,” laying her imploring hand on his 
arm, “ dinna, dinna say me nay. I’ll no tell her ; 
I’ll no let on ye was near the place, if ye’ll step 
in by, and sit ye doon, an’ let me mak’ ye a 
drap o’ tea ” 

“ Why, of course I will, Mrs. Gibson ; and 
to tell the truth, I am not sorry to have a 


“A MERE NOTHING — BUT NO VISITORS.” 21 5 

rest ; — I walked over, not to make a fuss. The 
young people are off on the tricycles, and there 
was no need to tell them I was coming. So if 

you are quite sure that Lady Margaret ” and 

he looked the rest. Gibbie sighed heavily, and 
led the way. 

When the tea was ready, she brought it in 
herself. In the interval she had withdrawn to 
steady as best she might her trembling pulses ; 
but the kettle was on the boil, and she was back 
in ten minutes. The colonel looked at her, and 
looked at his cup. 

“ Ye’ll tak’ sugar, sir ? ” 

“Sugar? Yes, if you please. But I believe 
there is some in already. Mrs. Gibson — ahem — 
the doctor of course — would naturally come 
twice.” 

“ Oo, ay, sir ; nat’rally. Can I saut yer scon’, 
sir ? The scon’s jist aff the fire.” 

“ Excellent, thank you — excellent scones. 
Hum — ha — I’m no great eater — of course a 
doctor — it is difficult for a doctor to pronounce 
definitely — they are apt to make the most of 
things. Do you think yourself — you know 
Lady Margaret better than he can do ? ” 

“ Kent her this fower and fowerty year, 
Cornell. Lived wi’ her, sairved her, helpit her 
to lay her bairns i’ the grave ” a long shud- 

dering sigh. 


21 6 


LEDDY MARGET. 


The colonel sat and stirred his cup round and 
round, forgetting to drink. 

“ She’s lyin’ doverin’,” said Gibbie, at length. 

“ Is she?’’ 

“ Jist doverin’. Neither asleep nor awake; 
but whiles she looks roon’ at me wi’ a kind o’ 
lauch, and says, ‘ Gibbie, I think I’m havin’ 
dalldrums ’ — that’s fancies, sir, jist foolish kind 
o’ fancies. An’ whiles she starts up, an’ speers 
at me for what is she i’ her bed ? An’ whiles 
she starts singin’. Wheesht ! ” suddenly paus- 
ing to listen as a low crooning was heard over- 
head. Gibbie nodded. “ Ay, it’s her. She’s 
singing noo.” Another pause. “ She garred 
me sing wi’ her i’ the nicht,” whispered the old 
woman, under her breath. “ No that I can, but 
she wad ha’e me. ‘ The Heavenly Temple 
stan’s’ — yon’s her favourite. Ower an’ ower 
she sings the tae verse.” 

“ ‘ Where high the Heavenly Temple stands?”’ 
said the colonel. 

“‘The Hoose o’ God no made wi’ han’s,’ ” 
responded Gibbie. 

A Great High Priest our nature bears,”’ 
said the colonel. 

“‘The Guardian o’ mankin’ appears,’ ” said 
Gibbie. 

Between them they made out the verse, and 
stopped with solemn, awe-stricken countenances. 


“A MERE NOTHING— BUT NO VISITORS.” 21 J 

“ Maybe I wad jist gang up a meenut ? ” sug- 
gested the old servant, presently. Colonel Kelso 
motioned a mute assent. 

Left by himself he turned slowly round, and 
gazed as he had often done before from the 
little window. 

A glorious summer day was reigning over 
land and sea. Scarce a breath stirred the 
glassy ocean ; the stretch of shining sand — - 
Lady Margaret’s favoured haunt — lay bathed 
in a golden glow. 

“ She’ll never tread there again,” thought he. 

He had not stirred when the door re-opened. 
Even then he only raised his head, and looked 
with questioning eyes. 

“ Cornell,” the old woman covered her mouth 
with her hand — the colonel still looked silently, 
“ Cornell — it'll no be lang .” 


218 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO HIS SIDE TO-NIGHT.” 

Towards the close of the week, however, Lady 
Margaret, to the surprise of everybody, showed 
signs of rallying. Her vigorous constitution 
re-asserted itself ; her doctor was a sensible 
man ; and her nurse to the manner born. 

“ We shall have her going about as well as 
ever ! ” cried one and another. “ She will come 
to my wedding yet ! ” confidently affirmed 
Joanna Kelso. 

Only Gibbie, smiling upon everybody and 
offering no disclaimer to any prognostication, 
never originated a remark. 

Lady Margaret laughed at Gibbie ; begged 
to know how long Dame Jailor intended to 
keep her boxed up within four walls when the 
days were so fine without? — declared that she 
was being pampered and petted with delicacies, 
until it was no wonder she could not eat good 
wholesome food, but required wine to wash it 
down. 

She would not hear of Sir Robert’s being 
sent for. He would be coming presently of 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 219 

his own accord, she said. August was close at 
hand ; and he always came in August. 

But she grew impatient of seeing nobody, 
and hearing nothing of other peoples concerns ; 
and at length, as the improvement was steady 
and maintained, it was obvious that the rigid 
seclusion of the sick-room was literally fretting 
its occupant. “ I cannot go on for ever think- 
ing about myself,” cried she, when it was 
suggested that a new departure might be pro- 
ductive of ill-results. “ Suppose I do not 
sleep so well, or eat so well, or whatever it 
is you are afraid of? It is no such very great 
matter. I am not the centre of the universe. 
I shall just tell the doctor I mean to get up,” 
concluded she, defiantly. 

“ Get up, by all means,” said the doctor, 
when she did so. 

To Gibbie’s mind it was almost a resurrection, 
and though the little cottage was full of jubila- 
tion, nobody said much about it to Mrs. Gibson 
on the day her ladyship first walked downstairs. 

“ But oh, how delightful it is to see you 
again, Lady Margaret ! ” 

They were all there, the three who had been 
perforce excluded on the disastrous day we 
know of, and Lady Margaret, in brocade and 
ruffles, was seated in their midst. 

There had been a motion on Colonel Kelso's 


220 


LEDDY MARGET. 


part to dispense with this second visit of state, 
or at any rate to deprive it of the formal splen- 
dour of the first. “ The young* people can 
come by themselves, and I look in another 
day; hey, Mrs. Nurse?” Gibbie was “Mrs. 
Nurse” at this juncture. 

“ She wadna like it, sir.” 

“ Let me make my call first then, and they 
can follow ; and I slip away as soon as they 
appear ? So we should not be all in the room 
together.” 

“As ye please, sir ; but ” 

“ Wouldn’t do, eh ? ” 

“Her leddyship has set her hairt on receivin’ 
the comp’ny as ye cam’ that day , Cornell ; she 
aye threeps aboot it. Gif ye wad gi’e her satis- 
faction ” 

“ Of course we would. Anything in the 
world we have to give.” 

“Then, sir, if I may mak’ sae bold, come 
ower as ye cam’ then ; wi’ the horses, an’ the 
carriage; Miss Jenny an’ yersel’ upo’ the box, 
an’ the young gentleman ahint wi’ Thamas. 
An’ come as near the time, Cornell, if it’s no 
inconvenient, as ye can. It wad be fower o’ 
the clock. An’ ye’ll kindly excuse my sayin’ 
sae?” 

Accordingly the clock had barely struck the 
hour ere the trampling of hoofs was heard, and 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 221 

Gibbie in a tremor glanced at her mistress. 
Not a muscle of Lady Margaret’s face moved. 
Composed and erect she sat within her chair, 
her hands folded, a tranquil air of expectation 
upon her aged features. Gibbie saw she might 
be left. “ Ye’ll be best yer lane, noo? ” 

‘‘If you please, Gibbie.” 

Of herself Lady Margaret would scarcely 
have made the proposition, so tender was she 
growing of Gibbie’s feelings ; but to the fine 
perceptions of the latter it was enough that the 
invalid had drawn herself upright, and listened 
undisturbed to champing horses and a clanging 
door-bell. 

“ She’ll win through,” decided Gibbie, van- 
ishing. 

And presently through the doorway, which 
opened and shut as Katie spread the little 
board, there came a pleasant, continuous mur- 
mur of voices ; a little subdued, perhaps ; 
Colonel Kelso’s deep bass tones not quite so 
hilarious as was their wont; Jenny’s low laugh 
rising only at intervals — but still enough to 
cheer the spirits and allay fears. Whatever 
happened now, Lady Margaret had had her 
will, and not broken down in the having it. 
Gibbie was quite cheerful that afternoon. 

And* Lady Margaret enjoyed herself im- 
mensely; said many bright, amusing, original 


222 


LEDDY MARGET. 


things ; was downright witty once or twice. 
Eustace Dagnam was charmed with her, 
charmed with the whole scene ; thought he 
had never seen a certain dear little rosebud 
cheek look sweeter than when it was laid 
against the withered cheek of age, and but 
that he was always prompt to obey the slight- 
est signal, would fain have lingered longer 
within the little room, instead of flying round 
to order the carriage. Lady Margaret uttered 
a soft complaint that the party was over so 
soon, — but Colonel Kelso affected not to hear, 
and Jenny too was deaf. 

“You are in a great hurry to go, Charles.” 

“ How wonderfully your roses bloom this 
year, Lady Margaret.” 

On the way home Jenny said with a slight 
hesitation, “ Papa, is Lady Margaret — do you 
notice anything different about Lady Mar- 
garet ? ” But all the answer she got was a 
quick look and something very like a groan. 
She asked no more. 

As time moved on, Gibbie often wondered 
whether it did or did not strike her mistress 
that nothing was being done about the wedding 
dress. The wedding itself was often discussed ; 
and now that the ice was broken, visitors from 
Lochmadden were frequent at the cottage ; but 
they never stayed long at a time, and as they 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 223 

went in or out usually exchanged a smothered 
word or two with herself, which showed that 
they might be trusted. 

Lady Margaret also resumed the interest she 
had always taken in the affairs of her humbler 
neighbours ; would have some of her specially- 
prepared beef-tea sent to one sick person, and 
a comfortable chair from out the spare bedroom 
to another. A child that was born was named 
after her — and she was in a fuss lest the ortho- 
dox christening gift should be forgotten ; she 
kept forgetting it herself, she said. 

Then she had a visit from Dr. and Mrs. 
Makellar, and the minister’s voice was heard in 
prayer, the while Gibbie kept watch outside, 
lest any intrusive step should approach. (She 
peeped through the keyhole at the “ Amen,” to 
see whether Lady Margaret rose from her 
kneeling posture in safety, but was standing 
some distance off, in the porch, when the 
visitors emerged.) 

And of course Archibald Proudfoot found his 
way over to the cottage, as indeed he had every 
obligation to do, — but Mrs. Gibson courteously 
gave him to understand that so rigid were the 
instructions laid upon her, that with the best 
will in the world, she durst not disobey medical 
authority in so far as to admit him. 

“ His lauch wad be the deith o’ her!” 


224 


LEDDY MARGET. 


muttered Gibbie, with a grim contraction of her 
own muscles. 

“Oh, poor ‘Archibald’!” said Lady Margaret 
when she heard. 

Presently she looked round with a smile. 
“ Gibbie, when my time comes — you know — if 
it is a cold, wet day when they come for me, 
don’t let the minister take the risk ; he is frail, 
and would be sure to catch one of his bad colds. 

‘ Archibald ’ will do ; ” and she smiled again, so 
humorously, but withal so seriously, that Gibbie 
turned away, scarce knowing whether jest or 
earnest were intended, but fearing greatly to 
ask. 

It had happily been arranged some time be- 
fore what Lady Margaret’s present to the bride 
should be, and a week before the auspicious day 
it arrived — a fine miniature painting of Jenny’s 
father set in brilliants, and adapted to be worn 
in various ways. Lady Margaret sat with the 
case in her hand throughout the greater part of 
the day on which it was to be presented, and 
was somewhat exhausted after the exciting 
scene was over ; but she told Gibbie over and 
over again, always as a fresh piece of news, that 
Miss Jenny declared she valued such a gift be- 
yond any other that could have been given her. 

Lady Margaret often sat thinking, and would 
sometimes look up with a start, and begin talking 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 225 

of people and things it taxed all Gibbie’s powers 
of memory to recall ; but she never seemed at 
all surprised to find Gibbie in the room with her. 
“ I have just had a letter from India. Mrs. 
Mandeville will be with us very soon,” she 
announced easily. “ She is bringing home her 
boys ; to send them to Eton, you know.” 

“ Yes, my leddy,” said Gibbie, dutifully. 
Alas ! the “ boys ” were grown men with families 
of their own ; and the letter which had “just 
come,” had been received years and years ago ! 

Anon it was, “ Gibbie, the little fellow who 
used to call for his apple every morning — I 
forget his name — does he still get it ? ” 

“ Aweel, my leddy, ye see ” 

“ But I said he was to get it, Gibbie ; I 
promised him he should. And I gave the 
order. It is too bad that just because I have 
been ill ” 

Gibbie rose and came to her mistress’ side. 

“ Ye’ll mind Robbie is i’ a fine place noo. It 
was yer leddyship whae spoke for him.” 

“ I spoke to him once ; up in the apple tree ! 
Ho! Ho! It was a funny place; oh, never 
mind,” hastily, “ only something that — that once 
happened. So Robbie is not here now ? ” 

“ I’ a place yer leddyship got for him.” 

“ Mind you say I am glad to hear he is keep- 
ing it, Gibbie.” 


15 


226 


LEDDY MARGET. 


Lady Margaret seldom talked about herself. 
At times a quiet radiance would overspread her 
features as she sat musing with the open Bible 
on her knee ; while ever and anon murmured 
syllables escaped, betraying, as through chinks, 
gleams of the light within ; but for the most 
part her mind, when busy, worked upon the 
concerns of others ; unselfish to the last, she 
could not even now be wholly absorbed by her 
own abounding peace and joy. 

One day she said to Gibbie, with a soft re- 
gret in her tone, “ I have everything , and I sit 
and think, Can I do nothing for all of you who 
have so little ? ” 

“Ye’ll remember us when ye come into the 
Kingdom,” said Gibbie, solemnly. 

It was the wedding eve. 

Lady Margaret had been unusually well all 
day ; gay too, with something of her old mirth- 
ful humour, and for the first time since her ill- 
ness had reverted to her deprivation in having to 
forego being present at the marriage ceremony. 

“I do believe I could have managed to do 
it, if we had only got the clothes ! ” she cried. 
“ I could have had a nice close carriage from 
Irvine’s ; and need not have stopped for the 
reception. It is too late to think of it now.” 

“ Ay, my leddy, ower late.” 


“ THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 22J 

“ I could not appear in an old gown ! ” 

“ ’Deed, yer leddyship, no. It’s no fit.” 

“ So I say. I can see that for myself, Mrs. 
Gibson. I’m not that blind and doited,” and 
Lady Margaret, looking so like her former self 
as almost to scare her auditor, gave the latter a 
little playful push, and continued her lamenta- 
tion. An hour later she had forgotten all 
about it. 

Towards night, however, the subject revived, 
and with it a certain restlessness and confusion 
of ideas. 

She was going to a wedding, Lady Margaret 
said, but whose she could not exactly remem- 
ber. Was it her own ? Had Victor come? 

Gibbie moved softly back and forward, say- 
ing nothing, keeping her head averted. 

“ The Wedding Supper of the Lamb ! ” 
broke out Lady Margaret on a sudden, uplifting 
an illumined countenance, as joyfully astonished 
by a new idea. “’Sh, Gibbie, did you hear? 
The King has called me to His side to-night! 
My wedding garment — quick. White as snow ; 
washed in His blood. The garment of His 
righteousness. Make haste, Gibbie, haste.” 
She rose and hurried towards the door. 

“ We’ll see to’t,” said Gibbie soothingly, and 
drew her upstairs. Would it be possible to get 
her to bed ? 


228 


LEDDY MARGET. 


It was done; but half undressed, Lady Mar- 
garet paused. “ Dear Gibbie,” she said, per- 
suasively, “ could you leave me for a little ? 
Only for a very little ? I should like to look 
over some old things. I would promise to be 
good, Gibbie.” 

Gibbie hesitated. 

“ Run along, good woman, run along,” cried 
Lady Margaret, imperatively ; and Gibbie, with 
a start, disappeared. 

For a moment Lady Margaret stood looking 
after her, then she softly locked the door, 
(though not so softly but that Gibbie heard it). 

It was, however, a sultry August night, there 
was no fire in the grate, and the anxious nurse 
told herself that fears were groundless. 

And they were ; but ah ! it was a strange 
scene which presently took place within the 
little dim-lit chamber. 

Slipping off the wrapper in which Gibbie had 
left her, Lady Margaret knelt down beside a 
huge, chintz-covered ottoman, unlocked it, and 
lifted the lid. It was full to the brim of gor- 
geous stuffs, with here and there a finely- 
wrought infants robe. In one corner was a 
man’s waistcoat of white satin, richly embroi- 
dered. 

It was not, however, over these that the 
kneeling figure now hung. Hastily burrowing 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 229 

beneath, and working fast, as one who knows 
that time is scanty, she pulled out what at first 
seemed to be a child’s frock, but a frock of the 
rarest material and finest texture. Its soft 
folds shone in the pale light ; the satin ribbon 
of the bows glistened. It was her wedding 
dress. 

“ I must haste — haste,” she whispered, and 
pinned it round her. “ My pearls, where are my 
pearls ? ” A row of milk-white pearls were 
clasped round her aged neck. 

Fairy-like slippers, and stockings of spun 
gossamer came next, and then — Gibbie’s tap at 
the door. 

“ Ready, ready,” responded a low cry from 
within. “ Coming, coming. ... In garments 
whiter than snow. ... In my wedding gar- 
ment, dear Lord, my own wedding garment ” 

the door opened, and Gibbie caught the speaker 
in her arms. 

“ It was such a silly thing to do.” Lady 
Margaret, penitent and apologetic, nestled 
down in her bed, and sipped the cordial ten- 
dered by her careful attendant. “You did not 
half scold me, Gibbie, dear. I don’t know what 
possessed me to jumble up things so. Hearing 
about Miss Jenny’s wedding perhaps. Do you 
know I kept thinking ” 


230 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“Na, dinna think,” said Gibbie, soothingly. 
At the same moment a drop of water splashed 
on to Lady Margaret’s hand. 

“Why, Gibbie? Gibbie, what’s that?” 

“A — a kind o’ a cauld i’ my heid, my leddy. 
Yer leddyship’s pardon for siccan a rudeness,” 
and the tear was hastily obliterated ; but with 
the same motion an uncontrollable impulse 
overcame the poor, fond, faithful creature ; her 
swelling heart, nigh to bursting, prompted a 
lower bending of the head, and she kissed the 
brow that lay upon the pillow. 

For a single moment Lady Margaret, her 
brain clear, her senses as acute as ever, felt 
confounded by the action ; almost as deeply 
disconcerted as though she had been struck a 
blow ; but the next, a smile of heavenly beauty 
transfigured her worn features, and she did 
that which Gibbie never will forget to the end 
of her life, she drew down the large, brown, 
homely cheek a second time, and with her own 
lips returned the kiss. 

“Ye’ll be better the morn.” A struggling 
whisper, Gibbie all but sobbing. 

“Better? Oh, much better. . . . To-mor- 
row? I shall be well to-morrow. ... I shall 
be satisfied, for — I shall awake — in Thy like- 
ness.” 

But the moment of that awakening 


was 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 23 1 

scarce known even to the watcher ; it had 
come and passed ere the grey dawn broke. 

The bride and bridegroom were departing. 
Wedding guests clustered within the portico of 
Lochmadden House; faces crowded the win- 
dows : baskets of rose leaves were waiting to 
be showered forth, and from lip to lip passed 
the query, “ Why do they not come ? ” 

It turned out, however, that there was only 
one delinquent. Eustace Dagnam, booted and 
spurred, blither and handsomer than ever, was 
ready ; had been ready some time, and his 
friends were now rallying him on the tardiness 
of his bride. 

And when she came at length, Jenny had no 
words for anybody. She had found her father, 
withdrawn from every eye, seeking a momentary 
solitude wherein to — then she knew what had 
happened. 

He had kept his secret up to that moment ; 
the day must not be dimmed. She would not 
have had a shadow cast upon it. 

Indeed it was by sheer accident that tidings of 
his loss had reached Colonel Kelso in the midst 
of the festival, for Gibbie had sternly refused to 
despatch any. Her white face had flushed into 
wrath at the suggestion, and she had turned 
upon the speaker fiercely. 


232 


LEDDY MARGET. 


“Wad she ha’e sent? Ye’ll no send.” And 
all day long her heavy foot went up and down 
within the veiled house, the while her lips were 
glued together. 

“ She canna rest,” whispered the maids. 
“ She’s clean broken-hearted,” they told Donald. 

And they saw that their sympathy, well 
meant, went for nothing ; and openly thanked 
the Lord when at last in the golden sunset 
another figure stood in the doorway. 

No sooner did the old woman feel the touch 
of her “ Cornell’s ” hand than tears streamed 
forth. She was gentle as a lamb from that 
time thenceforth. 

All the countryside followed the mourning 
procession when “ Leddy Marget ” was taken 
from their midst. Her remains were conveyed 
to the South, to be laid beside those of her be- 
loved husband and children, but her memory 
still lingers among the simple folks who knew 
her in her later days, and many humble voices 
will still be raised in blessing as they tell the 
tale of her life among them. 

And Gibbie, a stout little old woman with a 
peaceful countenance, has a pretty cottage of 
her own on the Lochmadden estate, with Mysie 
to share it ; and many days seldom go by without 
a visit from some of the family. Mrs. Dagnam 
sends Katie down if she cannot come herself ; 


“THE KING HAS CALLED ME TO-NIGHT.” 233 

and of course the baby is a constant dropper in ; 
but no visitor is so prized as “ himselV’ the 
courteous, cordial, cheery colonel, who sits and 
talks, often falling into a muse ere he rises to 
depart, and whose voice always softens, while 
his cap goes off, whenever he mentions the 
name of “ Leddy Marget”. 






\ 
















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appears. Some of these scenes have rarely been excelled in historical fiction for intensity of 
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is set as naturally as the history in Shakespeare’s plays blends with the poetry which vital- 
izes and glorifies it.” — Mail and Express, New York. 

“ It will be scarcely more than its due to say that this will always rank among Weyman’s 
best work. In the troublous times of 1789 in France its action is laid, and with marvellous 
skill the author has delineated the most striking types of men and women who made the Rev- 
olution so terrible.” — New York World. 

“ ‘ The Red Cockade ’ is a novel of events, instinct with the spirit of the eighteenth cen- 
tury and full of stirring romance. The tragic period of the French Revolution forms a frame 
in which to set the adventures of Adrien du Pont, Vicomte de Saux, and the part he plays 
in those days of peril has a full measure of dramatic interest. . . . Mr. Weyman has 

evidently studied the history of the revolution with a profound realization of its intense 
tragedy.” — Detroit Free Press. 

“ The action of the story is rapid and powerful. The Vicomte’s struggle with his own 
prejudices, his unhappy position in regard to his friends, the perils he encounters, and the 
great bravery he shows in his devotion to Denise are strikingly set forth, while the historical 
background is made vivid and convincing — the frenzy caused by the fall of the Bastile, the 
attacks of the mob, the defence and strategy of the nobility, all being described with dra- 
matic skill and verisimilitude. It is a fascinating and absorbing tale, which carries the reader 
with it, and impresses itself upon the mind as only a novel of unusual merit and power 
can do.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ The story gives a view of the times which is apart from the usual, and marked with a 
fine study of history and of human conditions and impulse on Mr. Weyman s part. Regard- 
ing his varied and well-chosen characters one cares only to say that they are full of interest 
and admirably portrayed. . . • It is one of the most spirited stories of the hour, and one 

of the most delightfully freighted with suggestion.” Chicago Interior. 

“ With so striking a character for his hero, it is not wonderful that Mr. Weyman has 
evolved a story that for ingenuity of plot and felicity of treatment is equal to some of us 
best efforts. . . . ‘ The Red Cockade ’ is one of the unmistakably strong historical ro- 

mances of the season.” — Boston Herald. 

“ We are greatly mistaken if the ‘ Red Cockade ’ does not take rank with the very 
best book that Mr. Weyman has written.” — Scotsman. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 EIETE AYE., NEW YOEK, 


A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. 

Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne, 

Sieur de Marsac. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF,” ETC. 

With Frontispiece and Vignette by H. J. Ford. 

1 2mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 

“One of the best novels since ‘Lorna Doone.’ It will be read and then re-read for the 
^iere pleasure its reading gives. The subtle charm of it is not in merely transporting the 
nineteenth-century reader to the sixteenth, that he may see life as it was then, but in trans- 
forming him into a sixteenth-century man, thinking its thoughts, and living its life in perfect 
touch and sympathy ... it carries the reader out of his present life, giving him a new 
and totally different existence that rests and refreshes him.” — N. Y. World. 

“ No novelist outside of France has displayed a more definite comprehension of the very 
essence of mediaeval French life, and no one, certainly, has been able to set forth a depiction 
of it in colors so vivid and so entirely in consonance with the truth. . . . The characters 

in the tale are admirably drawn, and the narrative is nothing less than fascinating in its fine 
flavor of adventure.” — B eacon, Boston. 

“ We hardly know whether to call this latest work of Stanley J. Weyman a historical 
lomance or a story of adventure. It has all the interesting, fascinating and thrilling charac- 
teristics of both. The scene is in France, and the time is that fateful eventful one which 
culminated in Henry of Navarre becoming king. Naturally it is a story of plots and intrigue, 
of danger and of the grand passion, abounding in intense dramatic scenes ai»d most interest- 
ing situations. It is a romance which will rank among the masterpieces of historic fiction.” 

—Advertiser, Boston. 

" A romance after the style of Dumas the elder, and well worthy of being read by those 
who can enjoy stirring adventures told in true romantic fashion. . . . The great person- 

ages of the time — Henry III. of Valois, Henry IV., Rosny, Rambouillet, Turenne — are 
brought in skillfully, and the tragic and varied history of the time forms a splendid frame in 
which to set the picture of Marsac’s love and courage . . . the troublous days are well 

described and the interest is genuine and lasting, for up to the very end the author manages 
effects which impel the reader to go on with renewed curiosity.’’ — The Nation. 

“ A genuine and admirable piece of work. . . . The reader will not turn many pages 

before he finds himself in the grasp of a writer who holds his attention to the very last mo- 
ment of the story. The spirit of adventure pervades the whole from beginning to end. . . . 

It may be said that the narration is a delightful love story. The interest of the reader 
Is constantly excited by the development of unexpected turns in the relation of the principal 
lovers. The romance lies against a background of history truly painted. . . . The 

descriptions of the court life of the period and of the factional strifes, divisions, hatreds of the 
age, are fine. . . . This story of those times is worthy of a very high place among histori- 

cal novels of recent years.”— P ublic Opinion. 

“ Bold, strong, dashing, it is one of the best we have read for many years. We sat down 
for a cursory perusal, and ended by reading it delightedly through. . . . Mr. Weyman 

has much of the vigor and rush of incident of Dr. Conan Doyle, and this book ranks worthily 
beside ‘ The White Company.’ . . . We very cordially recommend this book to the jaded 
novel reader who cares for manly actions more than for morbid introspection.” 

— The Churchman. 

“The book is not only good literature, it is a ‘rattling good story,’ instinct with the 
spirit of true adventure and stirring emotion. Of love and peril, intrigue and fighting, there 
Is plenty, and many scenes could not have been bettered. In all his adventures, and they 
are many, Marsac acts as befits his epoch and his own modest yet gallant personality. Well- 
known historical figures emerge in telling fashion under Mr. Weyman’s discriminating and 
fascinating touch.” — Athenaeum. 

“ I cannot fancv any reader, old or young, not sharing with doughty Crillon his admiration 
for M. de Marsac, who, though no swashbuckler, has a sword that leaps from its scabbard at the 
breath of insult. . . . There are several historical personages in the novel; there is, of 

course, a heroine, of great beauty and enterprise; but that true ‘Gentleman of France,' 
M. de Marsac, with his perseverance and valor, dominates them all.” 

— Mr. James Payn in the Illustrated London News. 


LONGMANS, GKEEN, & CO.. 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YOKE. 


MY LADY ROTHA. 

A ROMANCE OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR OF “A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE,” “UNDER THE RED ROBE,** 
“THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.” 


With Eight Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. 


“ Few writers of fiction who have appeared in England in the last decade have given 
their readers more satisfaction than Mr. Stanley J. Weyman, and no single writer of this 
number can be said to have approached him, much less to have equaled him in the romantic 
world of the historical novel ... he has the art of story-telling in the highest degree, 
the art which instinctively divines the secret, the soul of the story which he tells, and the 
rarer art, if it be not the artlessness, which makes it as real and as inevitable as life itself. 
His characters are alive, human, unforgetable, resembling in this *-espect those of Thackeray 
in historical lines and in a measure those of Dumas, with whom, and not inaptly, Mr. Wey- 
man has been compared. His literature is good, so good that we accept it as a matter of 
course, as we do that of Thackeray and Scott. . . . Mr. Weyman’s historical novels 

will live.” — New York Mail and Express. 

“ . . . differs signally from Mr. Weyman’s earlier published works. It is treated 

with the minuteness and lovingness of a first story which has grown up in the mind of the 
author for years. . . . Marie Wort is one of the bravest souls that ever moved quietly 

along the pages of a novel. She is so unlike the other feminine characters whom Weyman 
has drawn that the difference is striking and adds significance to this one book. . . . 

‘ My Lady Rotha ’ is full of fascinating interest, all the more remarkable in a work adhering 
so strictly to historical truth.” — Evening Post, Chicago. 

“This last book of his is brimful of action, rushing forward with a roar, leaving the 
reader breathless at the close ; for if once begun there is no stopping place. The concep- 
tion is unique and striking, and the culmination unexpected. The author is so saturated 
with the spirit of the times of which he writes, that he merges his personality in that of the 
supposititious narrator, and the virtues and failings of his men and women are set forth in a 
fashion which is captivating from its very simplicity. It is one of his best novels.” 

— Public Opinion. 

“Readers of Mr. Weyman’s novels will have no hesitation in pronouncing his just pub- 
lished ‘My Lady Rotha’ in everyway his greatest and mo6t artistic production. We 
know of nothing more fit, both in conception and execution, to be classed with the immortal 
Waverleys than this his latest work. ... A story true to life and true to the times 
which Mr. Weyman has made such a careful study.” —The Advertiser, Boston. 

“ No one of Mr. Weyman’s books is better than ‘ My Lady Rotha ’ unless it be ‘ Under 
the Red Robe,’ and those who have learned to like his stories of the old days when might 
made right will appreciate it thoroughly. It is a good book to read and read again.” 

— New York World. 

“ ... As good a tale of adventure as any one need ask ; the picture of those war- 
like times is an excellent one, full of life and color, the blare of trumpets and the flash of 
steel -and toward the close the description of the besieged city of Nuremberg and of the 
battle under Wallenstein’s entrenchments is masterly.” — Boston Traveller. 

“The loveliest and most admirable character in the story' is that of a young Catholic girl, 
while in painting the cruelties and savage barbarities of war at that period the brush is held 
by an impartial hand. Books of adventure and romance are apt to be cheap and sensational. 
Mr. Weyman’s stories are worth tons of such stuff. They are thrilling, exciting, absorbing, 
interesting, and yet clear, strong, and healthy in tone, written by a gentleman and a man of 
sense and taste.” — Sacred Heart Review, Boston. 

“ Mr. Weyman has outdone himself in this remarkable book. . . . The whole story 

Is told with consummate skill. The plot is artistically devised and enrolled before the read- 
er’s eyes. The language is simple and apt, and the descriptions are graphic and terse. Tho 
charm of the story takes hold of the reader on the very first page, and holds him spell-bound 
to the very end.” — New Orleans Picayune. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-83 FIPTH AYE., NEW YORK. 


UNDER THE RED ROBE. 

A ROMANCE. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR OF “A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE,” “ THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF,” ETC, 

With 1 2 Full-page Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville. 
1 2mo, Linen Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ Mr. Weyman is a brave writer, who imagines fine things and describes them 
splendidly. There is something to interest a healthy mind on every page of his new 
story. Its interest never flags, for his resource is rich, and it is, moreover, the kind of 
a story that one cannot plainly see the end of from Chapter I. . . . the story reveals 
a knowledge of French character and French landscape that was surely never ac- 
quired at second hand. The beginning is wonderfully interesting.” — New York Times. 

“ As perfect a novel of the new school of fiction as 1 Ivanhoe ’ or ' Henry Esmond ’ 
was of theirs. Each later story has shown a marked advance in strength and treat- 
ment, and in the last Mr. Weyman . . . demonstrates that he has no superior 
among living novelists. . . . There are but two characters in the story — his art 

makes all other but unnoticed shadows cast by them — and the attention is so keenly 
fixed upon one or both, from the first word to the last, that we live in their thoughts 
and see the drama unfolded through their eyes.” — N. Y. World. 

“ It was bold to take Richelieu and his time as a subject and thus to challenge com- 
parison with Dumas’s immortal musketeers ; but the result justifies the boldness. . . . 
The plot is admirably clear and strong, the aiction singularly concise and telling, and 
the stirring events are so managed as not to degenerate into sensationalism. Few 
better novels of adventure than this have ever been written.” — Outlook, New York. 

“ A wonderfully brilliant and thrilling romance. . . . Mr. Weyman has a positive 
talent for concise dramatic narration. Every phrase tells, and the characters static 
out with life-like distinctness. Some of the most fascinating epochs in French history 
have been splendidly illuminated by his novels, which are to be reckoned among the 
notable successes of later nineteenth-century fiction. This story of * Under the Red 
Robe ’ is in its way one of the very best things he has done. It is illustrated with 
vigor and appropriateness from twelve full-page designs by R. Caton Woodville.” 

— Boston Beacon. 

“ It is a skillfully drawn picture of the times, drawn in simple and transparent 
English, and quivering with tense human feeling from the first word to the last. It is 
not a book that can be laid down at the middle of it. The reader once caught in Us 
whirl can no more escape from it than a ship from the maelstrom.” 

— Picayune, New Orleans. 

“The ‘red robe’ refers to Cardinal Richelieu, in whose day the story is laid. 
The descriptions of his court, his jud : cial machinations and ministrations, his partial 
defeat, stand out from the book as vivid as flame against a background of snow. For 
the rest, the book is clever and interesting, and overflowing with heroic incident. 
Stanley Weyman is an author who has apparently come to stay.” — Chicago Post. 

“ In this story Mr. Weyman returns to the scene of his ‘ Gentleman of France,’ 
although his new heroes are of different mould. The book is full of adventure and 
characterized by a deeper study of character than its predecessor.” 

—Washington Post. 

“Mr. Weyman has quite topped his first success. . . . The author artfully 

pursues the line on which his happy initial venture was laid. We have in Berault, the 
hero, a more impressive Marsac ; an accomplished duelist, telling the tale of his own 
adventures, he first repels and finally attracts us. He is at once the tool of Richelieu, 
and a man of honor. Here is a noteworthy romance, full of thrilling incident set down 
by a master-hand.”— Philadelphia Press. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AYE., NEW YORK. 


THE STORY OF FRANCIS CFUDDE. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 

AUTHOR OF “a GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE,” “UNDER THE RED ROBE,” “THE HOUSE OF 
THE WOLF,” “MY LADY ROTHA,” ETC. 


With Four Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. 


“ A delightfully told and exciting tale of the troublesome times of Bloody Mary in Eng- 
land, and the hero — every inch a hero — was an important actor in them.” 

— New Orleans Picayune. 

“ It is a highly exciting tale from beginning to end, and very well told.” 

— New York Herald. 

“ One of the best historical novels that we have read for some time. . . . It is a 

story of the time of Queen Mary, and is possessed of great dramatic power. ... In char- 
acter-drawing the story is unexcelled, and the reader will follow the remarkable adventures 
of the three fugitives with the most intense interest, which end with the happy change on 
the accession of Elizabeth to the throne.” — Home Journal, Boston. 

“ The book presents a good historical pen-picture of the most stirring period of English 
civilization, and graphically describes scenes and incidents which undoubtedly happened. 
The style is plain, and the book well worthy of careful perusal. 

“ Humor and pathos are in the pages, and many highly dramatic scenes are described 
with the ability of a master hand.” — Item, Philadelphia. 

“ Is worthy of careful reading; it is a unique, powerful, and very interesting story, the 
scene of which is laid alternately in England, the Netherlands, and the Rhenish Palatinate; 
the times are those of Bloody Mary. Bishop Gardiner plays a leading part in this romance, 
which presents in good shape the manners and customs of the period.” 

— Buffalo Commercial. 

“ A romance of the olden days, full of fire and life, with touches here and there of love 
and politics. . . . We have in this book a genuine romance of Old England, in which 

soldiers, chancellors, dukes, priests, and high-born dames figure. The time is the period of 
the war with Spain. Knightly deeds abound. The story will more than interest the reader; 
it will charm him, and he will scan the notices of forthcoming books for another novel by 
Weyman.” — Public Opinion, New York. 

“ Its humor, its faithful observance of the old English style of writing, and its careful 
adherence to historic events and localities, will recommend it to all who are fond of historic 
novels. The scenes are laid in England and in the Netherlands in the last four years of 
Queen Mary’s life.” -Literary World, Boston. 

“ Is distinguished by an uncommon display of the inventive faculty, a Dumas-like ingenu- 
ity in contriving dangerous situations, and an enviable facility for extricating the persecuted 
hero from the very jaws of destruction. The scene is laid alternately in England, the Neth- 
erlands, and the Rhenish Palatinate ; the times are those of Bloody Mary. Bishop Gardiner 
plays a leading part in this romance, which presents in good shape the manners and customs 
of the period. It is useless dividing the story into arbitrary chapters, for they will not serve 
to prevent the reader from ‘devouring’ the ‘ Story of Francis Cludde,’ from the stormy 
beginning to its peaceful end in the manor-house at Coton End.” 

— Public Ledger, Philadelphia. 

“ This is certainly a commendable story, being full of interest and told with great 
spirit. . . . It is a capital book for the young, and even the less hardened nerves of the 

middle aged will find here no superfluity of gore or brutality to mar their pleasure in a 
bright and clean tale of prowess and adventure.” — Nation, New York. 

“A well-told tale, with few, if any, anachronisms, and a credit to the clever talent of 
Stanley J. Weyman.” — Springfield Republican. 

“ It is undeniably the best volume which Mr. Weyman has given us, both in literary 
style and unceasing interest.” — Yale Literary Magazine. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 PIFTH AYE., NEW YORK. 


FROM THE MEMOIRS 
OF A MINISTER OF FRANCE. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR OF “A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE,” “UNDER THE RED ROBE,” ETC., ETC. 

With 36 Illustrations, of which 1 5 are full-page. 
12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ A collection of twelve tales, each one of which is to be classed as a masterpiece, 
so subtle and strong is it in the levelation of character, so impressive its portrayal 
of the times and the scenes with which it deals. . . . Mr. Weyman has produced 
a really brilliant book, one that will appeal alike to the lovers of literature, of adven- 
ture, and to those who demand in fiction the higher intellectual quality. . . . The 

chances are that those who take it up will not put it down again with a page or even 
a line unread.” — Boston Beacon. 

“To read these merry tales of adventure and to lose all sense, for the moment, 
of life’s complexities, is a refreshment ; it is to drink again at the pure spring of 
romance. . . . Weyman . . . has caught more of the inner spirit of sixteenth 

century life than any romancer since Scott.” — Oregonian, Portland, Ore. 

“ These briefer tales have all the charm and attractiveness that attach to their 
author’s longer romances, and many of the leading characters of the latter figure in 
them. He catches the attention of the reader at the very outset and holds it to the end ; 
while his skill as a story-teller is so great that his characters become real beings to us, 
and the scenes which he describes seem actual and present occurrences as he narrates 
them.”— Sacred Heart Review, Boston. 


THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF. 

A ROMANCE. 

By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR OF “ A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE,” ETC. 


With Frontispiece and Vignette by Charles Kerr. 
12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ A delightful volume . . . one of the brightest, briskest tales I have met with for a 

I mg time. Dealing with the Eve of St. Bartholomew it portrays that night of horror from a 
point entirely new, and, we may add, relieves the gloom by many a flash and gleam of sun- 
shine. Best of all is the conception of the VidSme. His character alone would make the 
book live.”— Critic, N. Y. 

“ Recounted as by an eye witness in a forceful way with a rapid and graphic style that 
commands interest and admiration. 

Of the half dozen stories of St. Bartholomew’s Eve which we have read this ranks first 
in vividness, delicacy of perception, reserve power, and high principle.” 

— Christian Union, N. Y. 

“ A romance which, although short, deserves a place in literature along side of Charles 
Reade’s ‘ Cloister and the Hearth.’ . . . We have given Mr. Weyman s book not only 

a thorough reading with great interest, but also a more than usual amount of space because 
we consider it one of the best examples in recent fiction of how thrilling and even bloody 
adventures and scenes may be described in a style that is graphic and true to detail, and yet 
delicate, quaint, and free from all coarseness and brutality.” 

— Commercial Advertiser, N. Y. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 HPTH AYE., NEW YOKE. 


A MONK OF FIFE. 

A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF JEANNE D’ARC. 

Done into English from the manuscript in the Scots College of Ratisbon 

By ANDREW LANG. 


With Frontispiece. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“Granting that Norman Leslie was no myth, and was truly admonished by his 
superior to set down these facts in writing, and with all reverence for this clever monk, 
who kept such an excellent account of the exciting scenes he witnessed in his youth, 
we must believe that the delightful charm which pervades this quaintly pathetic tale 
is due to no one as much as to Mr. Lang. The Maid of Orleans takes a clearer, 
sweeter identity for his telling, and the reader must insist upon feeling indebted to 
this incomparable writer for one of the most beautiful and touching romances given 
to the world for many a long day.”— Chicago Evening Post. 

“Mr. Lang's portrait of the Maid is a beautiful one. He does not etherealize 
her unduly — indeed he rather insists on her most human characteristics ; and his 
portrait gains in lifelikeness from the skill with which he has woven into the story of 
her career as an inspired prophet and leader, little incidents showing her as the simple- 
hearted girl. The hero is supposed to be one of her body-guard, and his sweetheart 
one of her near friends. Although the Maid is really the central figure, the story of 
the lovers and the dangers of the hero and the heroine is so skillfully woven in that 
the book is nothing like a history of France at the time, but is a real romance; and 
because it is a real romance lets us into the spirit of the time better than any history 
that ever was or could be written. It is dangerous to prophesy just after the reading 
of anjr novel, but it seems to us that this is one of the novels that ought to live, at 
least for a generation or two.”— Colorado Springs Gazette. 

“Avery charming tale of the days of Joan of Arc, his leading characters being 
chosen from the band of Scotchmen who went to France and participated in the 
stirring campaign under the leadership of the Maid of Orleans which rescued France 
from the English. The many readers and students who are just now attracted by the 
revival of interest in the character and achievements of Jeanne D'Arc should by all 
means read Mr. Lang’s romance.”— Review of Reviews, N. Y, 

“ The story is admirably told in a style which reminds one of Stevenson’s best 
work in historical fiction.” — Boston Traveler. 

“ A brilliant, vivid, dramatic, and historically consistent depiction of the career of 
that wonderful maiden Joan of Arc is presented by Andrew Lang in his skillfully 
wrought, close-textured, and adventurous romance called ‘A Monk of Fife.’ ... It 
has from beginning to end a lifelike coloring that the sympathetic reader will find 
nothing less than enthralling.”— Boston Beacon. 

“Mr. Lang has made a most pleasing and readable romance, full of love and 
fighting adventures and exciting episodes. There is a quaintness about the recital in 
keeping with the period and which is an added charm. The story of Joan of Arc has 
been many times told, but never any more interestingly than in this book.” 

— Boston Times. 

“ A delightful romance. . . . Mr. Lang has made admirable use of his material 
and has given us a quaint and stirring tale that is well worth reading.” 

— Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ A picture, rich in detail, of the days of the Maid of Orleans ; and it is abundantly 
clear that the picture is drawn by one who knows the period, not only in its dry, 
prosaic sequence of battles and marches, but in the spirit and the speech of the time 
. . . a love story hardly less graceful and delicate than r that of Aucassin and Nico- 
lete; . . . the book will be well worth reading as pure romance, by turns idyllic 
and epic, and that it has as well a distinct value from its careful presentation of a 
period so confusing to the novice in history.” — Critic, N. Y. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 PIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 


HEART OF THE WORLD 


A STORY OF MEXICAN ADVENTURE. 

By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 

AUTHOR OF “SHE,” “MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER,” “ THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST,” ETC. 


With 1 3 full-page Illustrations by Amy Sawyer. 
1 2mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ The adventures of Ignatio and his white friend will compare for strangeness with any 
that the writer has imagined. And the invention of the city and people of the heart, of the 
secret order, with its ritual and history, and the unforeseen crisis of the tale, shows that the 
quality that most distinguishes the author's former works is still his in abundance. . . . 

The tale as a whole is so effective that we willingly overlook its improbability, and so novel 
that even those who have read all of Rider Haggard’s former works will still find something 
surprising in this.” — The Critic. 

“ Here are strange adventures and wonderful heroisms. The scene is laid in Mexico. 
The story rehearses the adventures of an athletic Englishman who loves and weds an 
Indian princess. There are marvelous descriptions of the 1 City of the Heart,’ a mysteri- 
ous town hemmed in by swamps and unknown mountains.” 

— Commercial Advertiser, New York. 

“ Has a rare fascination, and in using that theme Mr. Haggard has not only hit upon 
a story of peculiar charm, but he has also wrought out a story original and dtlightful to 
even the most jaded reader of the novel of incident.” — Advertiser, Boston. 

“ It is a fascinating tale, and the reader will not want to put the book down till he has 
read the last word.” — Picayune, New Orleans. 

“The lovers of Rider Haggard’s glowing works have no reason to complain of his latest 
book. . . . The story is, all in all, one of the most entertaining of the author’s whole 

list.” — T raveller, Boston. 

“ In its splendor of description, weirdness of imagery, its astonishing variety of detail, 
and the love story which blends with history and fantasy, the book without doubt is a 
creation distinct from previous tales. Maya, the Lady of the Heart, is an ideal character. 
. . . Interest is sustained throughout.” — Post, Chicago. 

“The success of Mr. Haggard’s stories consists in the spirit of adventure which runs 
through them, in their rapid succession of incidents, in the busile which animates their 
characters, and in the trying situations in which they are placed. . . . th's last story 

. . . introduces his readers . . . . to a comparatively new field of fiction in the evolu- 

tion of an ancient Aztec tradition concerning the concealed existence of a wonderful Golden 
City. . . .” — Mail and Express, New York. 

“ A thrilling story of adventure in Mexico. It is doubtful if he has surpassed in vivid 
coloring his delineation of the character of ‘Maya.’ This work is really a notable addition 
to the great body of romance with which his name is associated.” — Press, Philadelphia. 

“ This romance is really one of the best he has given us.” — Times, Philadelphia. 

“When the love of romance shall die in the human heart we may bid farewell to all that 
is best in fiction. ... In this story we have the same reckless dash of imagination and 
the same gorgeous profusion of barbaric scenes and startling adventure which have always 
characterized Mr. Haggard’s works.” — Independent, New York. 

“ His latest, and one of his most powerful stories. It shows the same trenchant, effective 
way of dealing with his story ; and the same power in open, startling situations. It will 
;ive the reader some new idea of that ancient people, the Aztecs, as well as of the more mod- 
•rn Mexicans. It is as strong as ‘King Solomon’s Mines.’ ” — Times, Hartford. 


LONGMANS, GBEEN, & 00., 91-93 FIPTE AVE., NEW YOKE. 


MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER. 


By h. rider haggard, 

AUTHOR OF “ SHE,” “ ALLAN QUATERMAIN,” “ NADA THE LILY,” ETC. 

With 24 full-page Illustrations and Vignette by Maurice 
Greiffenhagen. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.25. 


“Adventures that stir the reader’s blood and, like magic spells, hold his attention with 
power so strong that only the completion of the novel can satisfy his interest. ... In 
this novel the motive of revenge is treated with a subtle power . . . this latest production 

of Mr. Haggard blends with the instruction of the historical novel the charm of a splendid 
romance.” — Public Opinion. 


“ Mr. Haggard has done nothing better ... it may well be doubted if he has ever 
done anything half so good. The tale is one of the good, old-fashioned sort, filled with the 
elements of romance and adventure, and it moves on from one thrilling situation to another 
with a celerity and verisimilitude that positively fascinate the reader. . . . The story is 

told with astonishing variety of detail, and in its main lines keeps close to historical truth. 
The author has evidently written with enthusiasm and entire love of his theme, and the result 
is areally splendid piece of romantic literature. The illustrations, by Maurice Greiffenhagen, 
are admirable in spirit and technique.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ Has a good deal of the quality that lent such interest to ‘ King Solomon’s Mines’ and 
‘Allan Quatermain.’ . . . England, Spain, and the country which is now Mexico afford 

the field of the story, and a great number of most romantic and blood-stirring activities occur 
in each . . . a successful story well constructed, full of devious and exciting action, 

and we believe that it will find a multitude of appreciative readers.” — S un, N. V. 

* It is a tale of adventure and romance, with a fine historical setting and with a vivid 
reproduction of the manners and people of the age. The plot is handled with dexterity and 
skill, and the reader’s interest is always seen. '1 here is, it should also be noted, nothing like 
rnlgar sensationalism in the treatment, and the literary quality is sound throughout. 

Among the very best stories of love, war, and romance that have been written.” 

— The Outlook. 


“ Is the latest and best of that popular writer’s works of fiction. It enters a new 
field not before touched by previous tales from the same author. In its splendor of descrip- 
tion, weirdness of imagery, and wealth of startling incidents it rivals ‘ King Solomon’s Mines ’ 
and other earlier stories, but shows superior strength in many respects, and presents novelty 
of scene that must win new and more enduring fame for its talented creator. . . . The 

analysis of human motives and emotions is more subtle in this work than in any previous 
production by Mr. Haggard. The story will generally be accorded highest literary rank 
among the author’s works, and will prove of fascinating interest to a host of readers.” 

— Minneapolis Spectator. 


“ Is full of the magnificence of the Aztec reign, and is quite as romantic and unbelievable 
as the most fantastic of his earlier creations.” — Book Buyer. 

“ We should be disposed to rank this volume next to * King Solomon's Mines ’ in order 
of interest and merit among the author’s works.” — Literary World. Boston. 

“ It is decidedly the most powerful and enjoyable book that Mr. Rider Haggard has 
written, with the single exception of ‘ Jess.’ ” — Academy. 

“ Mr. Haggard has rarely done anything better than this romantic and interesting narra^ 
tive. Throughout the story we are hurried from one thrilling experience to another, and the 
whole book is written at a level of sustained passion, which gives it a very absorbing hold on 
our imagination. A special word of praise ought to be given to the excellent illustrations.” 

„ r, , , . - „ , , , • —Daily Telegraph. 

Perhaps the best or all the author s stories. 

The great distinguishing quality of Rider Haggard is this magic power of seizing and 
holding his readers so that they become absorbed and abstracted from all earthly things while 
their eyes devour the page. ... A romance must have ‘grip.’ . . . This romance 

possesses the quality of * grip’ in an eminent degree.” — Walter Besant in the Author. 

“The story is both graphic and exciting, . . . and tells of the invasion of Cortes; 

but there are antecedent passages in England and Spain, for the hero is an English adven- 
turer who finds his way through Spain to Mexico on a vengeful quest. The vengeance is cer- 
tainly satisfactory, but it is not reached until the hero has had as surprising a series of perils 
And '♦stapes as even the fertile imagination of the author ever devised.”— Dial, Chicago. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 EIETH AVE., NEW YORK, 


JOAN HASTE 

A NOVEL. 

By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 

7 I 

AUTHOR OF “SHE,” “ HEART OF THE WORLD,” “ THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST,” ETC., ETC 


With 20 full-page Illustrations by F. S. Wilson. 
12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“It is less adventurous in theme, the tone is more quiet, and the manner more 
in keeping with the so-called realistic order of fiction than anything Mr. Haggard has 
heretofore published. ‘Joan Haste ’ is by far the most earnest, and in many ways the 
most impressive work of Mr. Haggard’s that has yet been printed. The insight into 
character which it displavs is almost invariably keen and true. Every personality in 
the story is fully alive, arid individual traits of thought and action are revealed little 
by little as the narrative progresses, until they stand forth as definite and consistent 
creations.”— The Boston Beacon. 

“All the st r ong and striking peculiarities that have made Mr. Haggard’s earlier 
works so deservedly popular are repeated here in a new spirit. Not only that, but 
his literary execution shows an enlarged skill and betrays the master-hand of self- 
restraint that indicate maturity of power. His conception of character is improved by 
the elimination of all crudeness and haste, and his delineations are consequently closer 
to life. One is reminded strongly of Dickens in his admirable drawing of minor char- 
acters. Mrs. Bird is such a character. . . . The illustrations of the book are nu- 

merous and strikingly good. Many of the scenes are intensely dramatic, and move the 
feelings to the higher pitch. . . . Even in the little concerns of the story the wealth 

of its imagination appears, glowing in the warmth of its unstinted creations. There is 
a splendor in his description, a weird spirit in his imagery, a marvelous variety of 
detail, and at all points a creative force that give a perpetual freshness and newness to 
the fiction to which he gives his powers. To take up one of his fascinating books is 
to finish it, and this story of ‘Joan Haste’ is not to be outdone by the best of them all. 
The strength, emphasis, and vigor of his style as well as of his treatment is to be 
credited to none but superior gifts and powers. . . . ‘Joan Haste’ will become 

the favorite of everybody.” —Boston Courier. 

“ Mr. Haggard’s new story is a sound and pleasing example of modern English 
fiction ... a book worth reading. ... Its personages are many and well 
contrasted, and all reasonably human and interesting.” — New York Times. 

“ In this pretty, pathetic story Mr. Haggard has lost none of his true art. . . . 
In every respect ‘Joan Haste’ contains masterly literary work of which Mr. Haggard 
has been deemed incapable by some of his former critics. Certainly no one will call 
his latest book weak or uninteresting, while thousands who enjoy a well-told story of 
tragic, but true love, will pronounce ‘Joan Haste’ a better piece of work than Mr. 
Haggard’s stories of adventure.” — Boston Advertiser. 

“ This story is full of startling incidents. It is intensely interesting.” 

— Cleveland Gazette. 

“ The plot thickens with the growth of the story, which is one of uncommon interest 
and pathos. The book has the advantage of the original illustrations.” 

— Cleveland World. 

“‘Joan Haste’ is really a good deal more than the ordinary novel of English 
country life. It is the best thing Haggard has done. There is some character sketch- 
ing in it that is equal to anything of this kind we have had recently.” 

— Courier, Lincoln, Neb. 

“ In this unwonted field he has done well. ‘Joan Haste ’ is so far ahead of his for- 
mer works that it will surprise even those who have had most confidenee.in his ability. 

To those who read Thomas Hardy’s ‘ Tess of the D’Urbervilles ’ the atmosphere 
and incidents of ‘Joan Haste ’ will seem familiar. It is written along much the same 
lines, and in this particular it might be accused of a lack of originality; but Haggard 
har-come dangerously close to beating Hardy in his own field. Hardy’s coarseness is 
missing, but Hardy’s power is excelled.” — Munsey’s Magazine. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00.,. 91-93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YOKE. 


THE 


PEOPLE OF THE MIST. 


By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 

AUTHOR OF “ SHE,” “ ALLAN QUATERMAIN,” “ MONTEZUMA’S DAUGHTER,” ETC., ETC. 

With 16 full-page Illustrations by Arthur Layard. Crown 
8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. 


“ Out of Africa, as all men know, the thing that is new is ever forthcoming. The ol(* 
style is true with regard to Mr. Haggard's romances, and everybody concerned is to be con 
gratulated upon the romancer’s return to the magical country where lies the land of Kor. 
Africa is Mr. Haggard’s heaven of invention. Let him be as prodigal as he may, thence 
flows an exhaustless stream of romance, rich in wonders new and astonishing. ‘ The People 
of the Mist ’ belongs to the sphere of ‘ She ’ in its imaginative scope, and, as an example of 
the story-teller’s art, must be reckoned of the excellent company of ‘ King Solomon’s 
Mines’ and its brethren. We read it at one spell, as it were, hardly resisting that effect of 
fascination which invites you, at the critical moments of the story, to plunge ahead at f 
venture to know what is coming, and be resolved as to some harrowing doubt of dilemma. 
There is no better test of the power of a story than this. . . .” — Saturday Review. 

“ The lawyer, the physician, the business man, the teacher, find in these novels, teem- 
ing with life and incident, precisely the medicine to rest tired brains and * to take them out 01 
themselves.’ There is, perhaps, no writer of this present time whose works are read more 
generally and with keener pleasure. The mincing words, the tedious conversations, the 
prolonged agony of didactic discussion, characteristic of the ordinary novel of the time, find 
no place in the crisp, bright, vigorous pages of Mr. Haggard’s books. . . . ‘ The People 

of the Mist ’ is what we expect and desire from the pen of this writer ... a deeply 
interesting novel, a fitting companion to * Allan Quatermain.’ ” — Public Opinion. 

“ The story of the combat between the dwarf Otter and the huge ‘ snake,’ a crocodile 
of antediluvian proportions, and the following account of the escape of the Outram party, 
is one of the best pieces of dramatic fiction which Mr. Haggard has ever written.” — Bos- 
ton Advertiser. 

“ One of his most ingenious fabrications of marvellous adventure, and so skilfully is it 
done that the reader loses sight of the improbability in the keen interest of the tale. Two 
loving and beautiful women figure in the narrative, and in his management of the heroine 
and her rival the author shows his originality as well as in the sensational element which is 
his peculiar province.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ * The People of the Mist ’ is the best novel he has written since ‘ She,’ and it runs 
that famous romance very close indeed. The dwarf Otter is fully up to the mark of Rider 
Haggard’s best character, and his fight with the snake god is as powerful as anything the 
author has written. The novel abounds in striking scenes and incidents, and the read- 
er’s interest is never allowed to flag. The attack on the slave kraal and the rescue of Juanna 
are in Mr. Haggard’s best vein.” — Charleston News. 

“ It has all the dash and go of Haggard’s other tales of adventure, and few readers will 
be troubled over the impossible things in the story as they follow the exciting exploits of the 
hero and his redoubtable dwarf Otter. . . . Otter is a character worthy to be classed 

with Umslopogus, the great Zulu warrior. Haggard has never imagined anything more ter- 
ror-inspiring than the adventures of Leonard and his party in the awful palace of the Chil 
dren of Mist, nor has he ever described a more thrilling combat than that between the dwar, 
and the huge water snake in the sacred pool.” — San Francisco Chronicle. 

" It displays all of this popular author’s imagery, power to evoke and combine miraculous 
incidents, and skill in analyzing human motives and emotions in the most striking manner. 
He is not surpassed by any modern writer of fiction for vividness of description or keenness 
of perception and boldness of characterization. The reader will find here the same qualities 
in full measure that stamped * King Solomon’s Mines,’ ‘Jess,’ ‘ She,’ and his other earlier 
romances with their singular power. The narrative is a series of scenes and pictures ; the 
events are strange to the verge of ghoulishness ; the action of the story is tireless, and the 
reader is held as with a grip not to be shaken off.” — Boston Courier. 

“ Sometimes we are reminded of ‘ King Solomon’s Mines * and sometimes of' She,’ but the 
mixture has the same elements of interest, dwells in the same strange land of mystery and 
adventure, and appeals to the same public that buys and reads Mr. Haggard’s works for the 
sake of the rapid adventure, the strong handling of improbable incident, and the fascination 
of the supernatural,” — Baltimore Sun. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 EIETH AVE,, NEW TOEK, 


THE WIZARD. 


By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 

AUTHOR OF “ SHE,” “ KING SOLOMON’S MINES,” “ JOAN HASTE,” ETC., ETC. 


With 1 9 full-page Illustrations by Charles Kerr. 
Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 

“ I owe an exciting, delightful evening once more to a pen — say a voice — which 
has held me a willing prisoner in a grasp of iron. It is now ten years ago, I think, 
since I gave Mr. Rider Haggard my opinion that for the rest of his life he would have 
‘She’ always with him to be compared with what might follow. That incomparable 
romance, indeed, has never been surpassed by any living writer. Rider Haggard is 
the possessor of an imagination stronger, more vivid, more audacious than is found in 
any other writer of the time. I say this in order to introduce his latest work, ‘ The 
Wizard.’ It is only a short tale— too short — but it shows imaginative power that makes 
it worthy to follow after ‘ She.’ ’’—Sir Walter Besant, in “ The Queen.” 

“ The scene of this thrilling story is laid in Africa, but in many respects it is a new 
departure for the writer. . . . has never written anything more pathetic or with 

greater force than this tale of a missionary venture and a martyr’s death. The ‘ Pass- 
ing Over ’ is told with a simple beauty of language which recalls the last passages in 
the life of the martyred Bishop Hannington. As for the improbabilities, well, they are 
cleverly told, and we are not afraid to say that we rather like them ; but Haggard has 
never achieved a conception so beautiful as that of Owen, or one that he has clothed 
with so great a semblance of life.”— Pacific Churchman, San Francisco. 


“ 1 The Wizard ’ is one of his most vivid and brilliant tales. Miracles are no new 
things in the frame-work used by the writers of fiction, but no one has attempted just 
the use of them which Haggard makes in this novel. It is so entirely new, so abso- 
lutely in line with the expressed beliefs of devout folk everywhere, that it ought to 
strike a responsive chord in the popular heart as did ‘ Ben Hur,’ and should be equally 
successful.” — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

“ Mr. Haggard gives full play in the history of the conversion of the Son of Fire 
to his strong imagination, and he has succeeded admirably in conveying an earnest 
religious lesson, while telling one of his most exciting and entertaining stories.” 

— Beacon, Boston. 

“It is to be read at one sitting, without resisting that fascination which draws you 
on from one to another critical moment of the story, to resolve some harrowing doubt 
or dilemma. . . . Hokosa, the wizard, whose art proved at first so nearly fatal to 

the messenger’s cause, and whose devilish plots_ resulted finally in conversion and 
Christianity, is one of Mr. Haggard’s best creations. . The portrait has a vigor and 
picturesqueness comparable to that of' Allan Quatermain.’ ” 

— Picayune, New Orleans. 


• It has all the spirit and movement of this popular author’s finest work.” 

—Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia. 

“ A brilliant story truly, and here and there alive with enthusiasm and fire. Mr* 
Haggard describes savage combats with rare skill, and, somehow, we revel with him 
when he shows us legion after legion of untamed children of nature fighting to the grim 
death with uncouth weapons vet with as dauntless a courage as the best trained soldiers 
of Europe. It may be wrong for him to stir up our savage instincts but, after all, i 
healthy animalism is not to be scoffed at in any breed of men. New \ ork Herald. 

“ Is as full of adventure as the most ardent admirer of tales of courage and daring 
could desire. As its title implies, it portrays a character who is an adept in witch- 
craft, cunning, and knowledge of human nature. There is a distinct religious element 
throughout the book ; indeed, but for its religious motive 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 PIETH AVE., NEW YORK. 


THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON 5 

BEING A HITHERTO UNPRINTED CHAPTER IN 
THE HISTORY OF THE SEA ROVERS. 

By OWEN RHOSCOMYL. 


With 12 Illustrations by Lancelot Speed. 
Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ The tale is exceptionally well told , the descriptive passages are strong and viv- 
id without being over-elaborated ; and the recital of fights and adventures on sea and 
land is thrilling, without leading to any excess of horrors. The characters in the book 
are not all villians, but the progress of the narrative is lighted up by the ideals and 
strivings of brave and honorable men. The book is certainly a most attractive addi- 
tion to fiction of adventure, for it shows a fine degree of imagination on the part of the 
author. A glance at the illustrations by Lancelot Speed will alone be enough to incite 
a reading of the story from beginning to end.” — The Beacon, Boston. 

“ It is a work of genius — of the romantic-realistic school. The story is one of 
pirates and buried treasure in an island off the coast of Wales, and so well is it done 
that it fascinates the reader, putting him under an hypnotic spell, lasting long after the 
book has been laid aside. It is dedicated to ‘every one whose blood rouses at a tale 
of tall fights and reckless adventure,’ to men and boys alike, yet there will be keener 
appreciation by the boys of larger growth, whose dreams ‘ of buried treasure and of 
one day discovering some hoard whereby to become rich beyond imagination ’ have 
become dim and blurred in the ‘ toil and struggle for subsistence.’ ‘ The Jewel of Ynys 
Galon’ is one of the great books of 1895 and will live long.” — The World, New York. 

“ It is a splendid story of the sea, of battle and hidden treasure. This picture of 
the times of the sea rovers is most skillfully drawn in transparent and simple English, 
and it holds from cover to cover the absorbed interest of the reader.” 

— Press, Philadelphia. 

“ It is a story after the heart of both man and boy. There are no dull moments in 
it, and we find ourselves impatient to get on, so anxious are we to see what the next 
turn in the events is to bring forth ; and when we come to the end we exclaim in 
sorrow, “ Is that all ? ” and begin to turn back the leaves and re-read some of the most 
exciting incidents. 

Owen Rhoscomyl has just the talents for writing books of this kind, and they are 
worth a dozen of some of the books of to-day where life flows sluggishly on in a draw- 
ing-room. When the author writes another we want to know of it.” — Times, Boston. 

“ The style of this thrilling story is intensely vivid and dramatic, but there is 
nothing in it of the cheap sensational order. It is worthy a place among the classics 
for boys.” — Advertiser, Boston. 

“ The present school of romantic adventure has produced no more strikingly im- 
aginative story than this weird tale of Welsh pirates in the eighteenth century. . . . 

A most enthralling tale, . . . told with great artistic finish and with intense spirit. 
It may be recommended without reserve to every lover of this class of fiction.” 

— Times, Philadelphia. 

“ It is one of the best things of its kind that have appeared in a long time. . . . 
We do not know how far this tale may be taken to be historical, and, to be frank, 
we don’t care. If these things did not happen, they might have happened, and ought 
to have happened, and that is enough for us. If you like ‘Treasure Island’ and 
‘Kidnapped’ and the ‘White Company’ and ‘Francis Cludde’ and ‘ Lorna Doone,’ 
get ‘ The Jewel of Ynys Galon ’ and read it. You will not be disappointed.” 

— Gazette, Colorado Springs, Col. 

‘‘Our own interest in the book led us to read it at a sitting that went far into the 
night. The old Berserker spirit is considerably abroad in these pages, and the blood 
coursed the faster as stirring incident followed desperate situation and daring enter- 
prise.”— Literary World, London. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YOKE, 


BATTLEMENT AND TOWER. 

A ROMANCE. 

By OWEN RHOSCOMYL, 

AUTHOR OF “ THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON.” 


With Frontispiece by R. Caton Woodville. 12mo, Cloth, 

Ornamental, $1.25. 


“ It is a rare tale of the wars of the Commonwealth. The hero, Howel, is a young 
Welsh lord whose father gives him his hereditary sword and shield, and sends him to 
battle for the king. His adventures in love and war are intensely fascinating, and the 
reader puts down the book with extreme reluctance. The author has carefully studied 
the history of the times, and, besides being a thrilling tale, his story is a charming 
picture of the manners and customs of the day. It is a book well worth reading.” 

— New Orleans Picayune. 

“ . . . a powerful romance by Owen Rhoscomyl of the swashbuckling days in 

North Wales, when the Roundheads warred against the Cavaliers, and Charles I. of 
England lost his head, both metaphorically and literally. . . . The picturesque 

and virile style of the author, and the remarkable power he displays in his character 
drawing, place his book among the notable pieces of fiction of the year. There is 
plenty of fighting, hard riding, love-making, and blood-letting in the story, but the 
literary touch given to his work by the author places his product far above the average 
of the many tales of like character that are now striving to satisfy the present demand 
for fiction that has power without prurience.” — World, New York. 

“ There is a vein of very pretty romance which runs through the more stirring 
scenes of battle and of siege. The novel is certainly to be widely read by those who 
love the tale of a well-fought battle and of gallant youth in the days when men carved 
their way to fame and fortune with a sword.” — Advertiser, Boston. 

“ . . . a rattling story of adventure, privation, and peril in the wild Welsh 

marches during the English civil war. ... In this stirring narrative Mr. Rhos- 
comyl has packed away a great deal of entertainment for people who like exciting 
fiction.”— Commercial Advertiser, New York. 

" There is a flavor of old world chivalry in his tempestuous wooing of winsome, 
imperious Barbara, a charming love idyl. . . . The hot blood of the Welshman 

leads him into many and diverse dangers, yet so gallant is he, so quick of wit, and 
with band ever on sword hilt, that one accompanies him with unflagging attention. . . . 
The scenes of the story are historic, and the author’s fertile and ingenious imagination 
has constructed a thrilling tale in which the dramatic situations crowd thick and fast 
upon each other.” — Free Press, Detroit. 

“ Owen Rhoscomyl, who wrote an excellent tale when he penned ‘ The Jewel of 
Ynys Galon,’ has followed it with another, different in kind but its equal in 
degree. . . . Deals with an entirely different phase of Welsh legend from his 
former story, for it enters the domain of history. ... It is full of merit, and is 
entitled to pass muster as one of the successful novels of the season. ... The plot 
is involved, and there is a mystery in it which is not wrought out until the concluding 
chapters. . . . The story will appeal strongly to the lover of romance and ad- 

venture.”— Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ He calls his book a ‘ mosaic,’ and if such it be its stones are the quaint customs, 
strange ways, and weird legends of the Welsh, welded by strong and clear diction and 
colored with the pigments of a brilliant fancy. Gay pleasures, stern war, and true love 
are powerfully portrayed, rivalling each other in the interest of the reader. And 
though the heroes and their castles have Dug been buried beneath the dust of time, 
this writer sends an electric current through his pages making every actor and his sur- 
roundings alive again. He brings each successive phase of adventure, love, or battle, 
before the imagination, clad in language that impresses itself upon the memory and 
makes the book fascinating.” — Republican, Denver. 

“ His story is a stirring one, full of events, alive with action, and gilded with sen- 
timent of romance.” — Courier, Boston. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00,, 91-93 FIFTH AVE,, NEW YORK. 


FOR THE WHITE ROSE OF ARNO 

A Story of the Jacobite Rising of 1 745 

By OWEN RHOSCOMYL 

AUTHOR OF “THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON,” “BATTLEMENT AND TOWER,” 

ETC. 


Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25 


“ His ‘Jewd of Ynys Galon,’ was a splendid story of piracy on the Welsh coast. 
His ‘ Battlement and Tower ’ was a good story of Prince Rupert’s day. . . . A third 
romance, ‘ For the White Rose of Arno,’ a story of the Jacobite rising of 1745, is pic- 
turesque and exciting. It can be recommended to every lover of a fine romantic melo- 
drama.”— Express, Buffalo, N.Y. 

“ There are plenty of stirring events in the story, love, treachery, and revenge 
fighting at cross-purposes. One of the most graphic descriptions is that of the wed- 
ding of the hero and heroine. Mr. Rhoscomyl has a picturesque imagination, and he 
paints vividly with bold, true strokes. . . . The author has studied the period of 
which he writes with great care. He has not allowed his imagination to run away 
with historical facts, and the book will appeal not only to lovers of romance and adven- 
ture, but to students of English history.”— Gazette, Colorado Springs. 

“The ‘ White Rose of Arno ’ will delight all lovers of a good romantic novel.” 

— Eagle, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

“ . . . in this tale we are given a most stirring picture of the time of Charles 
Edward, the Pretender, and his devoted supporters. Nearly all of the incidents take 
place amid the hills and vales of beautiful Wales, and the contrast between scenery 
and wild human passions does much to heighten the effect of the story, which is very 
well told. The author is a Welshman, and the scenes he depicts one feels still burn 
within his soul ; hence his narrative is in the highest degree animated and forceful.” 

— Evening Transcript, Boston. 

“ . . . The story never lags for a moment, nor sags from its pitch of high 
heroism . . . Some of the scenes rival those others, well known, and, indeed, 
famous in ‘ David Balfour,’ and * Kidnapped.’ . . . It is a splendid story. . . . 
Prince Charles figures more as a shadow in the background than a leader, but he im- 
presses himself vividly as a great personal inspiration.” — Times-Herald, Chicago. 

“ Owen Rhoscomyl has already written some rare stories of the wars of the Com- 
monwealth that have met with a splendid showing of practical appreciation by a 
world-wide circle of readers. This latest novel by the pleasing Welsh writer is one of 
the most powerful romances that have emanated from his pen, and will doubtless re- 
ceive as graceful a welcome to fiction literature as his previous efforts have done. It 
is a stirring story of Wales when the Roundheads were warring against the cavaliers, 
and Charles I of England lost his head and his coveted throne. The story is brimful 
of fighting, of hard travel and riding, and old-time love making, and the flavor of old 
world chivalry in the tenderer portions of the novel is charming and complete. With 
the pen of a realist, the author hurries his readers back to live over the dead, old wars, 
to dwell in strange Welsh castles that long ago crumbled into dust, and to view the 
history and romances of those early days as something tangible with our own exist- 
ences. The style is always active, virile and picturesque, and there is not a dull or 
tame chapter in the book.” — Courier, Boston. 

“ The story is told with spirit, and holds the attention without effort. The action 
is swift, the episodes stirring, the character drawing admirable, and the style good. 
The ultimate defeat of the Pretender, and the final denouement are tragic in their 
intensity, and powerfully pictured.” — Brooklyn Times. 

“ This is a really stirring story, full of wild adventure, yet having an atmosphere 
of historic truthfulness, and conveying incidentally a good deal of information that is 
evidently based upon fresh study.” — Times, Philadelphia. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 EIPTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 


THE CHEVALIER D’AURIAC. 

A ROMANCE. 

By S. LEVETT YEATS. 

AUTHOR OF “THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI,” ETC., ETC. 

1 2mo, cloth, ornamental, $1 .25. 


“ The story is full of action, it is alive from cover to cover, and is so compact with thrill- 
ing adventure that there is no room for a dull page. The chevalier tells his own story, but 
he is the most charming of egoists. He wins our sympathies from the outset by his boyish 
naivete, his downright manliness and bravery. . . . Not only has Mr. Yeats written an 

excellent tale of adventure, but he has shown a close study of character which does not bor- 
row merely from the trappings of historical actors, but which denotes a keen knowledge of 
human nature, and a shrewd insight into the workings of human motives. . . . The 

fashion of the period is kept well in mind, the style of writing has just that touch of old* 

fashioned formality which serves to veil the past from the present, and to throw the lights 
and shadows, into a harmony of tone. . . . The work has literary quality of a genuine 

sort in it, which raises it above a numerous host of its fellows in kind.” 

— Bookman, New York. 

“ . • • A story of Huguenot days, brim full of action that takes shape in plots, sud- 

den surprises, fierce encounters, and cunning intrigues. The author is so saturated with the 
times of which he writes that the story is realism itself. . . . The story is brilliant and 

thrilling, and whoever sits down to give it attention will reach the last page with regret.” 

— Globe, Boston. 

“ . . . A tale of more than usual interest and of genuine literary merit. . . . 

The characters and scenes in a sense seem far removed, yet they live in our hearts and seem 

contemporaneous through the skill and philosophic treatment of the author. Those men and 
women seem akin to us ; they are flesh and blood, and are impelled by human motives as we 
are. One cannot follow the fortunes of this hero without feeling refreshed and benefited.” 

— Globe-Democrat, St. Louis. 

“A book that may be recommended to all those who appreciate a good, hearty, rollicking 
story of adventure, with lots of fierce fighting and a proper proportion of love-making. . . . 

There is in his novel no more history than is necessary, and no tedious detail ; it is a story 
inspired by, but not slavishly following, history. . . . The book is full of incident, and 

from the first chapter to the last the action never flags. ... In the Chevalier the author 
has conceived a sympathetic character, for d’ Auriac is more human and less of a puppet than 
most heroes of historical novels, and consequently there are few readers who will not find en- 
joyment in the story of his thrilling adventures. . . . This book should be read by all 

who love a good story of adventures. There is not a dull page in it.” — New York Sun. 

“A capital story of the Dumas-Weyman order. . . . The first chapters bring one 

right into the thick of the story, and from thence on the interest is unflagging. The Cheva- 
lier himself is an admirably studied character, whose straightforwardness and simplicity, 
bravery, and impulsive and reckless chivalry, win the reader’s sympathy. D’Auriac has 
something of the intense vitality of Dumas’s heroes, and the delightful improbabilities through 
which he passes so invincibly have a certain human quality which renders them akin to our 
day. Mr. Levett Yeats has done better in this book than in anything else he has written.” 

— Picayune, New Orleans. 

“ The interest in the story does not lag for an instant ; all is life and action. The pict- 
uresque historical setting is admirably painted, and the characters are skilfully drawn, espe- 
cially that of the king, a true monarch, a brave soldier, and a gentleman. The Chevalier is 
the typical hero of romance, fearing nothing save a stain on his honor, and with such a hero 
there can not but be vigor and excitement in every page of the story.” 

— Mail and Express, New York. 

“ As a story of adventure, pure and simple, after the type originally seen in Dumas’s 
‘Three Musketeers,’ the book is well worthy of high praise.” — Outlook, New York. 

“ We find all the fascination of mediaeval France, which have made Mr. Weyman’s stories 
such general favorites. . . . We do not see how any intelligent reader can take it up 

without keen enjoyment.” — Living Church, Chicago. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK. 


THE PRINCESS DESIREE 

A ROMANCE 

By CLEMENTINA BLACK 

AUTHOR OF “AN AGITATOR,” “ MISS FALKLAND,” ETC. 


With 8 Full-page Illustrations by John Williamson 
i2mo, Linen Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25 

“The reader who begins this very fascinating tale will feel bound to finish it. . 

. . . The story runs naturally in a highly romantic vein. It is, however, so brightly 
and choicely written and is so interesting throughout, as to be to the reader a source 
of real delight.” — Aberdeen Daily Free Press. 

“ Miss Black may be congratulated on achieving a distinct success and furnishing 
a thoroughly enjoyable tale.” — Athen.eum, London. 

“ Is a romantic story of the adventures of the heiress to a pretty German princi- 
pality. It has a pure love story, and is written with spirit.” — Outlook, New York. 

“ There is plenty of intrigue and royal family affairs, and those who love a his- 
torical novel will enjoy this one. It has the air of being founded on facts.” — Com- 
mercial Tribune, Cincinnati. 

“ Once in a while there appears a novel that, without manifesting any special 
originality, yet leaves with its reader a sense of satisfaction that many more im- 
portant works fail to give. Such a story is the “Princess Desiree.” — Buffalo 
Express. 

“The story is thoroughly satisfactory, it contains little sentiment but many inter- 
esting situations, and much forceful action. It is told with a directness that attracts 
in these busy days and is an admirable picture of French and German intrigue. It is 
well illustrated and bound.” — Boston Times. 

“This readable novel may be read at a sitting with unflagging in- 

terest.” — Public Ledger, Philadelphia. 

“ The plot is exceedingly well managed, in spite of its demands upon the credulity 
of the reader, and the author’s style is terse, clear cut, and piquant. The eight full- 
page illustrations by John Williamson are cleverly done.” — Boston Beacon. 

“A brightly written story, full of unusual adventure of a quasi-political nature. 

. . . Is entertaining reading throughout.” — Press, Philadelphia. 

“A vivacious novel.” — P ublic Opinion, New York. 

“ It is amusing in the picture it gives of the sudden change of an ardent Republi- 
can, through love for one of the royal race, to a Monarchist. There is a pleasant 
freshness of tone about it, and Ludovic De Sainte is quite as worthy of the Grand 
Duchess of Felsenheim as was Rudolph of the Princess Fluvia. The political intrigue 
is simple yet very exciting and effective. There is no effort at high tragedy, but the 
plot is simply and skillfully developed and holds interest well. . . . Altogether, it 

is a brave story, and you will like to read it.” — Nassau Literary Magazine, Prince- 
ton, N. J. 

“The Princess Desiree .... will win universal praise. It is one of the 
most charming love stories that have been published of late years, pure and optimistic, 
reminding us, but by no means as a servile imitation, of another lady, the romantic 
4 Princess Osra,’ whose heart, or want of heart, was so ably described by Mr. 
Anthony Hope.” — Star, Montreal. 

“Except that there is nothing in it that is either supernatural or essentially im- 
probable, it has much of the charm of a fairy tale. The style is pure and the story 
dramatic with the additional attraction of eight or ten well executed illustrations. — 
San Francisco Chronicle. 

“ There is enough exciting interest in ‘ The Princess Desirde ’ to make one v/ish 

to read it through as soon as possible There is an undesirable charm in 

the narrative.” — New York Commercial Advertiser. 


LONGMANS, GREEN & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK 


WHAT NECESSITY KNOWS. 

A Novel of Canadian Life and Character. 

By MISS L. DOUGALL, 

AUTHOR OF “ BEGGARS ALL.*’ 

Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.00. 


A very remarkable novel, and not a book that can be lightly classified or ranged with 
Other modern works of fiction. . . . It is a distinct creation ... a structure ol 

noble and original design and of grand and dignified conception. . . . The book bristles 

with epigrammatic sayings which one would like to remember. . . It will appeal 

strongly by force of its originality and depth of insight and for the eloquence and dignity of 
style in the descriptive passages. Manchester Guardian, London. 

"We think we are well within the mark in saying that this novel is one of the three or 
four best novels of the year. The social atmosphere as well as the external conditions of 
Canadian life are reproduced faithfully. The author is eminently thoughtful, yet the story 
is not distinctively one of moral purpose. The play of character and the clash of purpose are 
finely wrought out. • _ . . What gives the book its highest value is really the author’s 

deep knowledge of motive and character. The reader continually comes across keen obser- 
vaPcms and subtle expressions that not infrequently recall George Eliot. The novel is one 
that is worth reading a second time.” — Outlook, New York. 

“ Keen analysis, deep spiritual insight, and a quick sense of beauty in nature and 
human nature are combined to put before us a drama of human life . . . the book is not 

only interesting but stimulating, not only strong but suggestive, and we may say of the 
writer, in Sidney Lanier’s wcrds, ‘She shows man what he may be in terms of what he is.”* 

—Literary World, Boston. 


BEGGARS ALL. 

A NOVEL. 

By MISS L. DO UGALL. 

Sixth Edition. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00. 

“ This is one of the strongest as well as most original romances of the year. . . . The 

plot is extraordinary. . . . The close of the story is powerful and natural. ... A 

masterpiece of restrained and legitimate dramatic fiction.” — Literary World. 

“To say that ‘ Beggars All * is a remarkable novel is to put the case mildly indeed, for 
it is one of the most original, discerning, and thoroughly philosophical presentations of 
character that has appeared in English for many a day. . . . Emphatically a novel 

that thoughtful people ought to read . . . the perusal of it will by many be reckoned 

among the intellectual experiences that are not easily forgotten.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ A story of thrilling interest.” — H ome Journal. 

“ A very unusual quality of novel. It is written with ability ; it tells a strong story with 
elaborate analysis of character and motive . . . it is of decided interest and worth 

reading.” — Commercial Advertiser, N. Y. 

“ It is moje than a story for mere summer reading, but deserves a permanent place 
among the best works of modern fiction. The author has struck a vein of originality purely 
her own. . . . It is tragic, pathetic, humerous by turns. . . . Miss Dougall has, in 

fact, scored a great success. Her book is artistic, realistic, intensely dramatic — in fact, one 
of the novels of the year.” — Boston Traveller. 

“ ‘Beggars AH 1 is a noble work of art, but is also something more and something better, 
it is a book with a soul in it, and in a sense, therefore, it may be described as an inspired 
work. The inspiration of genius may or may not be lacking to it, but the inspiration of a 
pure and beautiful spirituality pervades it completely . . . the characters are truth- 

fully and powerfully drawn, the situations finely imagined, and the story profoundly 
interesting.” — Chicago Tribune. i 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE,, NEW YORK. 


SAM. 

THE STUDY OF A LIFE. 

By HENRY SETON MERRIMAN, 

AUTHOR OF “WITH EDGED TOOLS,” “THE SOWERS,” ETC. 

With Frontispiece and Vignette by H. G. MASSEY. 
1 2mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 


FLOT 


“ The scene of this thoroughly interesting book is laid at the time of the great 
Indian mutiny of 1857, and the chapters devoted to that terrible episode in the history 
of English rule in India are among the most interesting in the volume, the capture of 
Delhi in particular being graphically described.” — Herald, Oneonta, N. Y. 

“ It is a powerful study.”— C incinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“ One of the strongest novels of the season.” — Boston Advertiser. 

“It is decidedly a novel worth reading.” — N ew England Magazine. 

“ . . . From first to last our interest in the dramatic development of the plot is 
never allowed to flag. ‘ Flotsam ’ will amply sustain the reputation which Mr. 
Merriman has won.” — Charleston News and Courier. 

“ It is a rather stirring story, dealing with breezy adventures in the far East, and 
sketching in strong outlines some very engaging phases of romance in India not down 
in Mr. Kipling’s note-books.”— Independent, New York. 

“ It is a novel of strong, direct, earnest purpose, which begins well in a literary 
sense and ends better.”— Sun, Baltimore. 

“ A brilliant gift for characterization and dramatic effect put his novels among 
the best of the season for entertainment, and, to no small extent, for instruction.” 

—Dial, Chicago. 

“ Mr. Merriman can write a good story ; he proved that in ‘ The Sowers,’ and he 
shows it anew in this. . . . The story is a strong one and told with freshness and 

simple realism.”— Current Literature, New York. 

“ His story is remarkably well told.” — Herald, Columbia, Mo. 

“ It is a novel written with a purpose, yet it is entirely free from preaching or 
moralizing. The young man, Harry Wylam, whose career from childhood to the 
prime of manhood is described, is a bright, daring, and lovable character, who starts 
with every promise of a successful life, but whose weakness of will, and love of 
pleasure, wreck his bright hopes midway. The author shows unusual skill in dealing 
with a subject which in less discreet hands might have been an excuse for morbidity.” 

— Boston Beacon. 

“ A story of lively and romantic incident. . . . His story is remarkably well 

told.” — N ew York Sun. 

“ The story is full of vigorous action . . . and interesting.” 

— Public Opinion. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 


THE VIOLET. 

A Novel. 

By JULIA MAGRUDER, 

AUTHOR OF “ PRINCESS SONIA,” ETC. 


With 1 1 Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. Crown Svo, 
Cloth, Ornamental, Gilt Top, $ 1 .25. 


“Julia Magruder has made a very pretty story of* The Violet ’—a story with just 
those touches of graceful sentiment that are sure to gratify the girl reader. ... It 
is a pleasure to come upon a romance so pure in motive, so refined in sentiment, and 
so delicate in manner . . . and the book has an added charm in the illustrations 
by Charles Dana Gibson, who seems to have caught the spirit of the text to a nicety, 
and to have interpreted it with an admirably sympathetic technique.” 

—Beacon, Boston. 

“Julia Magruder has given her readers a charming story in ‘ The Violet ’ — one as 
sweet and simple and lovely as the modest flower itself. . . . It is a beautiful 
character study, breathing forth the fragrance of womanly sweetness in every phrase. 
The illustrations by Gibson are apt, and the binding and make-up of the book appro- 
priately attractive.” — Times, Boston. 

“ Is a good, wholesome love story. The plot is natural and the characters real. 
. . . ‘ The Violet ’ is a study which the reader may wish could have been pro- 
longed.”— Eagle, Brooklyn. 

“ A story altogether as beautiful and inspiring as its name . . . one of the 
most charming books of the season, as it is an old fashioned story with a delicious bit 
of mystery interwoven with the romance of a young heroine who, though poor, pos- 
sesses every grace and accomplishment.” — Courier, Boston. 

“ It is a pure, sweet story, with a fragrance as of violets clinging to it, and it de- 
lightfully sets forth the attributes of true manhood and true womanhood.” 

—Home Journal, N. Y. 


DOREEN. 

The Story of a Singer. 

By EDNA LYALL, 

AUTHOR OF “WE TWO,” “DONOVAN,” “THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER,” “ IN 

THE GOLDEN DAYS,” ETC., ETC. 

Crown 8vo, Buckram Cloth, Ornamental, $ 1 .50. 


“ A plot which has original life and vigor. . . . Altogether a good novel, and 

if the author had written nothing else she could safely rest her literary reputation on 
‘ Doreen.’ ’’—Public Opinion, N. Y. 

“ Edna Lyall’s . . . new story ... is one of her best. It has, naturally, 
enough of tragedy to make it intensely interesting without being sensational in any 
offensive sense. The heroine, Doreen, is a delightful character, sturdy, strong, lovable, 
womanly, and genuinely Irish. Miss Bayly is a conscientious writer, imbued with 
deep feeling, a high purpose, and her style is attractive and pure.” 

— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ It is a very clever story indeed, and skillfully written.” 

—New Orleans Picayune. 

“ This is perhaps one of the best of Edna Lyall’s clever stories. Doreen is a young 
Irish girl, who loves her native land, and who is a credit to her race. . . . Inter- 
woven with the story of her experience and of her love for a young Englishman is an 
intere ;ting account of the rise and progress of the Home Rule movement. Miss Lyall’s 
book is a charming tale, and will not fail to delight every one who reads it. The girl 
Doreen is a beautiful character.” — Catholic News. 


LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK. 


WAYFARING MEN 


By EDNA LYALL, 

AUTHOR OF “DONOVAN,” “ WE TWO,” “DOREEN,” ETC. 


Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.50. 


“ . . . We take up Edna Lyall’s last novel . . . with high expectations, and 

we are not disappointed. Miss Bayly has acquired a wonderful insight into human nature, 
and this last production of her pen is full of the true portrayals of life. . . . The whole 

book is a whiff of ‘ caller air ’ in these days of degenerate fiction.” 

— Commercial Advertiser, New York. 

“ One of her best stories. It has all the qualities which have won her popularity in the 
past.” — S entinel, Milwaukee. 

“A well- written and vigorous story.” — O bserver, New York. 

“It is a strong story, thoroughly well constructed, . . . with the characters very 

skilfully handled. . . . Altogether the story is far above the ordinary, and bids fair to 
be one of the most successful of the opening season.” — C ommercial, Buffalo. 

“ Edna Lyall . . . has added another excellent volume to the number of her ro- 
mances. . . .It sustains the reputation of the author for vigorous writing and graceful 

depicting of life, both in the peasant’s cabin and the noble’s hall.’’ 

— Observer, Utica, New York. 

“Miss Lyall’ s novel is one of unflagging interest, written in that clear, virile style, with 
its gentle humor and dramatic effectiveness, that readers well know and appreciate. . . . 

On many pages of the story the writer reveals her sympathetic admiration for Ireland and 
the Irish. ‘Wayfaring Men ’ is a literary tonic to be warmly welcomed and cheerfully com- 
mended as an antidote to much of the unhealthy, morbid, and enervating fiction of the day.” 

— Press, Philadelphia. 

“ The author has made a pretty and interesting love-story, ... a truthful picture of 
modem stage life, and a thoroughly human story that holds the interest to the end.” 

— Tribune, Chicago. 

“ It is a story that you will enjoy, because it does not start out to reform the world in less 
than five hundred pages, only to wind up by being suppressed by the government. It is a 
bright story of modern life, and it will be enjoyed by those who delighted in ‘ Donovan,’ 
‘We Two,’ and other books by this author.” — C incinnati Tribune. 

“A new book by Edna Lyall is sure of a hearty welcome. ‘Wayfaring Men’ will not 
disappoint any of her admirers. It has many of the characteristics of her earlier and still 
popular books. It is a story of theatrical life, with which the author shows an unusually 
extensive and sympathetic acquaintance.” — N ew Orleans Picayune. 

“ Characterized by the same charming simplicity of style and realism that won for 
‘ Donovan’ and ‘ Knight Errant’ their popularity. . . . Miss Lyall has made no attempt 

to create dramatic situations, though it is so largely a tale of stage life, but has dealt with 
the trials and struggles of an actor’s career with an insight and delicacy that are truly pleas- 
ing.” — The Argonaut, San Francisco. 

“ Is a straightforward, interesting story, in which people and things theatrical have 
much to do. The hero is an actor, young and good, and the heroine— as Miss Lyall’s hero- 
ines are sure to be — is a real woman, winning and lovable. There is enough excitement in 
the book to please romance-lovers, and there are no problems to vex the souls of those who 
love a story for the story’s sake. It will not disappoint the large number of persons who 
have learned to look forward with impatient expectation to the publication of Miss Lyall’s 
‘ next novel.’ * Wayfaring Men ’ is sure of a wide and a satisfied reading.” 

— Womankind, Springfield, Ohio. 


LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00,, 91-93 FIFTH AYE., NEW YOEK. 





















































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